BARDLORE Lyrics

The demon that had been tormenting him took his face in it's hands

One hand slipping back to stroke over his hair

Not unlike trying to calm a frightened horse

But Wilhorn was no horse

Wilhorn was barely an animal, closer in that moment to a rag used

To wipe blood from the face of your enemy as a show of submission

The edges of this memory were stained with blood of elf and bird alike

The half-human

Because, really, wasn't he?

He was far less pretty than an elf, far less strong

On his knees in a sticky-slick wetness

Seeping into the wood of the queen's finest ship

Wilhorn dared not think too hard about the memory's edge

Being akin to the knees of his pants in that moment

This demon

This wretched, hellish creature that had fallen

Towards the white-haired boy like hail to cobbles

Stood above him now, holding his head

So it could not fall under it and shame's own weight

Black, cool claws, slotted against his cheek

No threat besides presence

No stimuli able to reach him besides what the demon was forcing him to take

A still air, free of the torture the crew had endured for the past 10 months

And yet the softness was torture in and of itsself

It felt so cold it burned

You've won, the demon spoke

Voice echoing around him in double, triple, quadruple harmony

Amusement in it's tones as obvious as the pain also carried within

You've won, and now you must simply close the box

As Wilhorn came back to his senses

Tucking his hair behind his ear and glancing up from his journal

To watch his husband catch a fish bare-pawed from the waves

Crashing onto the beach their nice

Quaint house sat on, he couldn't remember the rest

He couldn't remember what the demon meant

But, with the vague feeling of being a doll left to sit on a damp basement shelf

And the scent of smoke engraved into the deepest folds of his brain

Wilhorn couldn't help but feel that the lapse in memory was for the best