"Mercy," I whisper through cracked lips,

Looking up at faces I once trusted—

Their eyes gleam like polished obsidian,

Reflecting my terror with divine pleasure.

"Friends," the word tastes like ash,

A fool's comfort, now turned bitter.

Their laughter, once warm honey,

Reveals its true note: hyena's song.

They wore kindness like borrowed coats,

Smiles sharp as concealed blades.

I welcomed wolves to my table,

Mistaking fangs for friendly grins.

Through tears, reality distorts:

Those gentle hands now taloned,

Sweet voices twist to growls—

No dream to wake from here.

Too late, the truth crystallizes:

They were always hunters,

Patience their sharpest weapon,

My trust their favorite game.

My ending feeds their hunger,

Sweet ambrosia of betrayal.

Already their masks slip back on,

As they turn to fresher prey.