13 August, 1521 A.D.

On the final night of the final month
in the year of the Snake God, even as snakes
mean deceit, double-edged swords clash
with clubs, and spears. Somewhere in the
distance, fire rises like the sun in the
morning. Like nothing will rise in the
morning but smoke. Here, snakes are
rebirthing creatures, taking in the pain
of blood and tears and wine spilled from
the table as the pounding grows near. From
their wombs crawl on. Bloody nails dragging
on stone. This used to be your temple. That
used to be your graveyard. It is all nothing.
The Gods are deciding your fate now.
Breathe in. Then out. All this, now,
becomes your graveyard. You will
be dead by morning. The Gods
have decided this is how it
ends. Let this all last
forever.