In a palace steeped in opulence and pride,

  A noble lived, with his grandeur as his guide.

  His steps crushed the weak beneath their weight,

  His words, like daggers, dictated their fate.

  But the breath of night, bearer of malediction,

  Slipped in silence, touching his ambition.

  One evening, amidst fractured mirrors’ decay,

  He saw his reflection grotesquely splay.

  His hands twisted into an insect's claws,

  His limbs deformed, his soul breached its laws.

  Pustules bloomed, gold tarnished to mire,

  And his laughter dissolved into a buzzing choir.

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  As his body withered, his spirit collapsed,

  Breaking, fading, a shadow perhaps.

  He cried to the night, but no one replied,

  His echoes vanished into a cursed void wide.

  In gilded halls, he now takes flight,

  A witness to splendor devoid of its might.

  The guests feast on, unaware of his plight,

  Blind to the decay that shadows their light.

  His meals are scraps, sullied and stale,

  Where once he sipped wine, amber and pale.

  His throne reduced to a desecrated ghost,

  A kingdom of ruins, memories, and loss.

  In his wanderings, madness gnaws at his mind,

  A noble turned monster, to despair resigned.

  He mutters alone, conjuring phantom feasts,

  Haunted by laughter of long-dead beasts.

  One night, a whisper chilled the revelers’ air,

  A sound, a shiver, from beyond their care.

  They say at each forgotten banquet’s end,

  A fly buzzes close, a damned soul to send.

  Thus, etched forever in the eternal night,

  Is the fate of a man blinded by pride’s light.

  A warning tolls, a resonant chime,

  For those who revel blind to the winds of time.