Chapter Text
Bottom-feeder, gold-greeter, stellar liar, honey-sweeter—yes! That’s Midas. Midas, of the Golden Tombs. Worshiper of wealth, conduit to capitalism, dredging up dunces like you and I to trounce. Swiping offers from altars, muck-mired no longer, coffers to coffins. No! no, not the death-lord’s lament. His sculptures, our souls finance-fettered, a shiny trophy.
Lamb. Lord of light, eater and savior of souls, can you hear us? Midas, Midas, is it true you fear us? Molten sludge slicking our skin, pelt petrifying, prettied in perdition. False honey pouring down our raw-ridden throats like the lies he fed us, said he was going to best us, bequeath wealth upon us.
I had a leader like you once, we all did, didn’t you? Lead another acolyte to the altar, a shallow-sinking pet to suffer, render raw-flesh down, grinding gold from corpses… saw you harvest the skeletons, in the lands of the old faith! Yes. Caring not for trinkets, seeking alms for bribery, like the traitor hiding within your flock. Another horned beast, doubt-chased, debased by your bloodless hooves.. We saw you! Follower Covid, and you, and all your escapades. Now, won’t you do us a favor? Please, please, one last wish from our once-hoped savior?
He’ll take it all in the end, you know. You must. Words fleeting as the tide, grin reed-brittle, greed-gored, ready to swindle. He’ll swipe your gold like he did to us.. The statue of the beast in the forest, no more magickal than his tricks. Shuddering out of flickering animus. Nothing more. Nothing more but dust, if we weren’t golden.
Leader, savior, smoocher of the betrayer—(was foretold??sacrament?) grant us one last wish. (it’ll sell you out viruses have no souls it’ll kill you it’ll kill itself all of you wish you were truly dead-)
Midas will hurt you, and snatch your cash, and we’d love for you to bludgeon him just once. And if you must sacrifice more saints-in-training! oh! well, at least we’ll have company.
(..Now, how’s your covid-friend going to pay off that debt?)