Altar

It is too late.

There is blood dripping from the table

mingling with the wax created by now extinguished flame.

The bleached white bones of the one you were trying to save 

Lie on the table in shattered pieces.

The moon glowed in full outside the cabin window

and all was completely still.

You exit the abandoned cabin

Leaving bloody footprints in the snow.

The wooden stake in your hand grows hot

with fury

and guilt

and you curse yourself for not keeping

a closer eye on your sister.

It is too late.

The sacrifice is made.

The end times have begun.