A Deal For The Fool

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: The Imaginarium

A Poetic Fairy Tale that tells the story a man who betrays a spawn who helps him restore his son, but little did he know what he had done for the karma of betrayal had come to him.

Once on a morbid and dreary day,

I sat near a river to drift me away,

With cross and knife each in a shaking hand,

The river I begged to take me with crying demand,

But a chuckle I did hear from a nearby spawn,

Not human nor animal, but thing that repents the dawn.


“No mind me, I simply came upon you.

Pray tell, what makes thee so blue?”

Though he be made vagabond, the spawn held charm,

But refusal in speech, he would soon bring harm.


“My son has grown ill, bitten by the serpent,

His heart grows still, but yet he repent.

His skin has turned winter cold and brittle,

The poison has made him still, life in him is little.”

He stood and puzzled did that spawn, he did,

He stood and puzzled until grasped thought, he did.


“A deal I have made, unless you refuse,

To relinquish your son from the poison abuse,

But in order to do so, thy soul I must have,

To save your boy, thy soul I must have.”

Though the deal was merry and grand,

Refusing to shake the deal, did my hand.


“Under one condition before I conclude thy deal,

Heal him now and prove to me what you say is real.”

Snickering, the spawn brought forth an image in the river,

And with my own eyes, his very words did deliver.

His skin no longer brittle as the poison was withdrawn,

Though happy with delight, little trust I had for the spawn.

Not paying attention, the cross and knife were weapons upon him,

Within his eyes I could see a hate grow as they grew dim.


“You have betrayed, but yet thou art the fool.”

“I have waited and hoped you would come strike a deal,

So who now is the fool?”

His blood charred my hand until I couldn’t feel.

He snickered and laughed but it was his last,

His skin turned to stone, a mold of his body was cast,

But I didn’t stay to relish in my happiness,

For I returned home for my son to gaze upon my happiness.


But as the door opened, there stood the spawn,

Not human nor animal, but thing that repents the dawn.

Wife and son outstretched on the floor,

A smile on his face in which I did not adore.

In his hand, the knife, my knife, now his tool,

“Didn’t I tell you, thou art the fool?”

Submitted: May 12, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Reaper. All rights reserved.

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