And you will stay away from me, and from mine,
or me and my lady Weaver shall send you spiders
by the hundreds of thousands.
Tiny spiders shall find you as you sleep, and wrap you in silk.
So light that you will not be woken.
Such might that you will not be able to move.
And each shall eat a small portion of your skin,
You will feel each bite,
until there is no more skin.
Then they shall dig deeper.
Soon, though, I shall be along with my dagger,
and I shall separate you from the misery.
Because, you should remember, I am the Nice one.