A child of demonology,
They told me how I was made,
By that blasted coven,
Possessed of dark magic and darker intents,
I was spawned by no natural means,
Formed by ritual in lieu of conception,
Dragged from the abyss,
From that infernal bubbling womb,
Scratching at the cast iron feebly,
The cold skin of this cauldron,
Contrasting against my seared ruby skin,
A mere fell homunculus,
Into that vessel they allotted great labour and pain,
Poisonous herbs of all shades and temperaments,
Liquid spite in floods,
Pigs hearts and crows eyes,
Galvanising the broth to rouse sorcerous nascency,
Magic to beget my fiendish form,
Why sire such an abomination?
Why bring evil to life?
For its own sake they told me,
I have no inherent goal,
No good reason to exist,
For I am cauldron-born.