Tethered to sacred mist,
Her ethereal essence harbors no bliss
Dwelling among faded tombstones,
Scavenging the remnants of ashen bones.
No rest for the wicked they say,
She would sooner just melt away
Like spring caressing the snow,
Mana for tormented souls below.
Encased within self-inflicted prison,
A scorned specter summoned, has risen.
Bound, she exists between two vales,
Whilst the harvest moon, ebbing pales.
To listen within the still somber scene,
You may hear echoes of a banshee scream.
To defy her mesmerizing siren refrain,
Only perpetuates the agonizing pain.
She croons so seductive, a lover's serenade,
So devious in her bedeviled masquerade.
Only those who love deeply can turn away,
A heart claimed, immune by her sway.
Haunted by love lost disheartening illusion,
Wandering unrepentant in tormenting seclusion
Condemned evermore to seek her lover true,
Her burning desire to bid thee adieu.