A Curse and the Fates

I know the old Gods mock me.  

In turn, I curse the Fates—  

claw their bloodied thread,  

daring fate to snap it first.  

I defy the stars—  

a plague on all their houses.  

I walk the windswept Moors alone,

followed by the ghosts of my regret. 

Because I could paint myself in oils—

a flawless mask for sin-scarred soul—

veil white hands from the world's cruel view,

still scour the Underworld 

for you.