Though no rain fell outside the castle walls, thunder cracked and rumbled across the heavens; and through the haze of his drunkenness the little prince spied a forest, dark and heavy, the wind touching his skin for the first time; and he followed the path thru the woods to a village where laughter and the clinking of glasses drew him to a small tavern. Screams filled the air as patrons ran in fright; and in a dark corner of the room the prince saw the hulking and deformed shape lying in wait in the shadows—it bore the face of the creature that stalked the hills, that froze men in their skin and turned hair white—which was staring back at the prince with wild, seething eyes—grinning with malevolence it was the face of evil… the face of wickedness… the face in the mirror… the prince’s own reflection.

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Rating: 4.2/10 (14 votes cast)
Lovecraft, 4.2 out of 10 based on 14 ratings

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