Somewhen Elses's Darkness will fall upon the House tonight.
With the million tiny compromises and the thousand intaken breaths.
With the vigilance of waiting.
With the soundwaves tranquil, waiting to be shattered.
Tomorrow there will be prayers to gods no one believes in, there will be offerings to tiny gods that need to be appeased.
The food offering.
The salt offering.
The water offering.
The tiny chipped off pieces of soul that are offered up so readily.
Tonight, slightly before the Darkness arrives, we will light candles at the House.
When I sing my offerings tonight to the immensity of the Universe, I will also sing for the Darkness, because someone needs to. Because there was a time when that Darkness belonged to me.
How empty, how destitute, when only your sworn enemy will offer you succor?
How could it not despise me?
I will stare into the chasm of the could-haves and the will-bes and the once-weres. I will protect those that are mine. And I will wait for the motors to run and the gears to turn until the Darkness recedes its tentacles, back into the homes and hearts and entrails where it is welcomed.
I will not bar the door, but I will not let it reside.
We are prepared. As with any possible storm, it could destroy everything. Again.
Perhaps it will be nothing.
But if it is not, I promise that we will be here, standing, at the House.
It will still only be Darkness, that belongs somewhen else, and even if it damages and marks us, we will still be our own.
We do not belong to the Darkness.