She moves in and out of the shadows,
A wraith wishing through the stygian sylvan meadows,
Slipping, walking into ancient tapestries,
As she stalks, teary-eyed.

Chilling through loud shrieks as moonlight retreats
And it was the light that betrayed her translucent silhouette
From her form unfurled black tenebrous tendrils that reach to the distance
Polluting roots with the same decay that became of her visage
Miasmic plumes of thick white fog loom, choking oxygen,

Vengeful acidic tears,
Etch lines she’d cross within the fabric of her soul,
Her spirit, if it willed, could condemn the living
In each dagger-laced umbral stare.
It was the light that betrayed her,
As benevolent as she was, there came no absolution.

Weaving in and out of the shadows,
Phantasmagorically she betrays them,
Luring them into her den of retribution,
As the tendrils grasp like leeches,
Bringing her new legions,
She is the queen of liches,
Forsaken banshee, in her nocturnal fortress of the forest
Like an angry Irish fae, or the Morrigan herself.
Corvid whispers in soft ****** caws,
Led to her spectral draw,
Had we prayer, may we pray to a god to save us all.