A villanelle for Lord Strahd von Zarovich, from Escher.

O my love, will you play a song for me? 
A sweet, sad song—to make your lovers weep. 
A memory of how things used to be. 

On the ramparts of your undying heart 
‘Twas the day my soul became yours to keep. 
O my love, will you play a song for me? 

The organ in my chest grows cold apart 
From your notes, a sweet wine that burns me deep. 
A memory of how things used to be. 

Whose life must end for you, so ours can start? 
Hers, perhaps. But your love for her runs deep. 
O my love, will you play a song for me? 

What can I do, but wait for her to part—
And lay upon my bed, engraved, to sleep? 
A memory of how things used to be. 

I was loved once. But all that’s left are scars 
Of the man I was, ‘fore shadows did creep. 
O my love, will you play a song for me? 
A memory of how things used to be. 

Another declaration of undying love. 
Dear Lord Strahd von Zarovich, love Escher. 

Each word you speak makes my withered heart bleed—
A bitter spirit coursing through these veins. 
Entombed in lies, yet seeking truth in deeds. 
I reach, yearning for release from these pains. 

But ‘tis a dream I cherish, and not you.
Thus I close my eyes, so that I may see—
The man thou once were, untethered and true. 
Our love like echoes from a long-lost dream. 

Like a candle burns, or a storm rages. 
‘Tis a passion I never wish to snuff. 
As your music binds our hearts in cages. 
Oh, how I wish to be simply—enough. 

You say you love me, but the truth I know. 
Your heart isn’t mine. It is hers, alone.

Dear Lord Strahd von Zarovich, love Escher.

Would you still love me if I died today? 
Alas. A precious thought—but not by choice. 
Thus, I tread these halls, fading day by day. 
Lifelong agonies just to hear your voice. 

But darkness pulls you into her once more. 
A curse. An intoxicating nightmare. 
Though I wish to be the one you adore. 
Drowning in sweet poison, just to be there. 

O, grief! But still, you love her and not me. 
So my soul weeps with a heart of sorrow. 
If I could just be the one to hold thee. 
And dwell in your darkness ‘til the morrow. 

They named you a devil, and I still fall. 
But I know now. You’ll never love—at all. 

This poem was inspired by characters and events in Curse of Strahd, by Wizards of the Coast.