The Nightward Scale forest snatched from a velvet-lined box

snatched from a velvet-lined box in a house already crumbling into dust

it is proclamation

dark and sweet

with small nodular formations concentrated in deeper pockets

checking the spacing of the spikes where they sit between the plates

The Nightward Scale forest snatched from a velvet-lined boxThe scales scrape faintly against each other as we move through the alleyways, shadows bending toward us like obedient servants. Every step is measured, every glance checked but the necklace does not tremble. The spikes hum with anticipation, the black scales catching what little light there is, reflecting it back as warning. We do not speak; words would slow us. The air tastes of rain and old stone, thick with the scent of smoke from lamps left