Dangers

There's a spectral beast outside your window. Waiting in the heckling, the coughing, the slow tread of huge cloaked crowds spreading their sick and their gossip around your apartment. The masses create a secret spiral. It locks you in, makes you afraid to open the door outside. You eat what's left of your wares and read the same books over and over. You are spectral, waiting for a slow hope to creep back in your body. The spirals in your hair curl over and over, afraid to relax from the apartment. You eat masses of creepy threads. You hold on tight to each one, unwinding in practicality, thriving in your mind palaces, the castles full of mead and beasts, skies of gossip and huge heckling crowds.