Calyco’s Ledger

All you must do is make a deal,

and lo, the Devil lends his seal.

A whisper, a ritual, a common rite,

to borrow a flame not yours by right.

See how the crowd goes mad with praise,

their eyes bewitched, their tongues ablaze.

The entity coils, the demon feeds,

on your blood, your breath, your secret needs.

Think not the glamour yours to feign,

It is but a leech that makes you shine.

It fattens while your visage fades,

and leaves you husked in sickly shades.

How swiftly Time shall take its toll,

a youthful face grows gaunt and old.

Not fame, nor toil, nor sleepless stage,

but parasites that feast on age.

Mark well the bargain cloaked in dark,

It asks not coin, but gnaws the heart.

What gilded crown is worth the cost,

when, soul by soul, yourself is lost?

I, born of lineage, ancient, true,

need not such fraud to make men woo.

For gift is gift, not debt or chain,

It yields its light without your bane.

Yet you, who crave the crowd’s acclaim,

will summon fiends to build your name.

So take your bow, O hollow star,

the Devil claps, he knows who you are.