"THE PACT OF SHADOWS"

Satan, on his fiery throne, reigned high,
with immense power that made all comply.
He knew the secrets of earth and wind,
yet in his chest, a dark torment would spin.

Of all the knowledge hell could conceal,
an elusive art made his mind reel.
He knew no strokes, no lines, no light,
and this stirred his soul through the night.

“How can I, lord of the night’s domain,
not master ink nor hand's refrain?”
And through whispers borne from mortal breath,
he vowed to learn the craft long kept.

He searched the corners of the hidden world,
for one who knew what shadows unfurled.
An artist lost to time’s embrace,
taught him brushes, paper, and grace.

Day after day, Satan toiled with might,
to learn the craft that haunted his sight.
Each stroke he gave, each line drawn,
was a fragment of his soul reborn.

But soon he saw, at last understood,
it wasn’t mere art, but a ritual of the good.
An eternal dance of precision and grace,
where chaos and order intertwined in space.

And so, Satan was born, his perfect creation,
unique garments, an art beyond temptation.
Every brushstroke, an act divine,
a ritual of shadows, a destiny fine.

Now on fabric, the spirit does dance,
each garment a pact, a sacred trance.
Satan learned what he never knew,
and with his hands, crafted what’s true.