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The Mora

I woke beneath the weight of suffocating gloom, As shadows swarmed and gathered in my room. A whisper, cold as winter, passed through my chest— She came in silence, in stealth my breath to wrest. Her hair was woven Night, her eyes were Moons, Her breath sang ancient, frost-enchanted tunes. She knelt beside me, pale as driven frost, And touched my brow — in dread my soul was lost. I slowly sank beneath a sky of ashen veils, Through forests laden white and snowy vales. Around the trees flew whispers — eerie, cold, And every step was weighted by fear untold. “What is your name?” — trembling, I dared to speak. She winced — a crack split through her frozen cheek. “I am the stony silence before the final breath, Whatever eldritch dwells between your sleep and Death.” Her fingers reached and time began to slow, My heartbeat thinned beneath a drift of snow. She murmured lullabies in tongues long unheard, And laid my soul to rest in silent dread. She sang her name: “I’m Mora, the Winter I command, I reach to mortal souls and freeze them with my hand. I stalk behind Fears emerged through veils thin, A frost that creeps beneath your trembling skin.” The morning came — she vanished with the light, Yet scars remained from horrors cloaked in Night. It was no dream, but something cold and near, What Slumber stirs - an ancient, foreboding Fear. She waits behind the shadows of the Night, To grip slumbering souls and hold them tight. No prayer or dawn can keep her too far away — For Mora stalks — her shadow is here to stay.