## The Corvus and the Codex

The rain, a spectral, silver weep, did drum upon my pane, A rhythmic dirge, a lullaby for madness and for pain. Within my tower, tall and stark, I huddled, old and worn, A Wizard steeped in ancient lore, by hope and solace shorn.

I sought within a crumbling Codex, bound in dragon's hide, A spell to still the creeping dread that festered deep inside. To banish shadows, quell the fear, the whispering of despair, And mend the tapestry of mind, unravelled thread by thread, there.

The fire crackled, low and red, a phantom in the gloom, As pages turned, their brittle touch a whisper from the tomb. I muttered runes, forgotten words, in a forgotten tongue, To break the curse, the evil hold, to which my soul was hung.

Then, with a sudden, startling flap, against the window pane, A darkness swooped, a feathered shape, a messenger of bane. A Corvus, black as midnight's heart, with eyes of burning coal, Perched grimly on the bust of Pallas, a visitor of soul.

"Speak, raven," I croaked, my voice a rasp, "what tidings do you bring? From shadowed realms, from astral planes, what mournful song you sing?"

The raven shifted, tilted his head, a chilling, knowing stare, And croaked a single, guttural word, that hung upon the air: "Nevermore."

I shuddered then, a chilling breeze, swept through the ancient room, And sealed the fate, the final doom, that waited in the gloom. "Nevermore," he echoed, soft and low, a promise and a threat, To drag me down to deepest Hell, where horrors I had met.

I tried to sh