White castle, dark reign

A demon stirs within, a soft honeyed whisper—
A lure to wicked things of vicious bile,
To acts that mark the fragile, yielding soul.

With each dark passing, deepens now the stain.
Fetid odors, secrets kept in mesh,
Seep through the veils, the fragile walls of flesh.

Thus sits the Emperor in his white castle high,
His devotees in groveling posture, if not in plea.
Trumpets wail loud for each decree he'll bring,
While his purse swells with luscious gold—
A monarch unmoved as shadows stretch long.

Ruler of darkness, your shadow a stain that marks the land.
Chaos and mayhem—the names held in your hands.
Once a bright dream, now a haunting nightmare—
Hope the sleepers aren't caught.