the blackest gift
It is a night of subtlety, a song of blood,
wolves vent their pain. The ethereal one
stirs.
Evil shrouds her gaunt form,
an everlasting agony.
Her midnight hair cascades over
pale and tragic shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
death streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of new life,
I weep.
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