Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Warriors four were we,

linked as one but born as many,

we few,

we many,

we friends,

we lived,

we witnessed,

we bore things into existence that time will hate us for,

but we four,

we few,

we many,

we friends,

we mirrors of one,

we will live again,

and again with each new recital,

with each new word,

they will remember us for the destruction,

and in that,

we will forever live,

when the river of time runs dry,

the few puddles that remain,

will still sing our names…