call
a young woman, pale, etched with cracks,
her skin white, a canvas for terror.
Gray hair, like threads of fog,
dancing in the breeze, heralds of fear.
Her eyes yellow, Luciferian,
reflecting an abyss where horror resides.
In her gaze, the echo of a sinister past,
legends whispered in the shadows of fear.
Night heron, messenger of misfortune,
announces with its croak the arrival of evil.
Walker of the macabre, gliding in the darkness,
the young woman, skin tearing apart,
an embodied enigma, a whisper of nightmare.
The wind howls, like the lament of lost souls,
while she advances, leaving behind a trail
of shadows twisting in agony.
Captivated in the spell of her presence,
the darkest fears awaken.
Fear materializes, takes shape,
like the sharpened claws of an unnamed horror.
In the night, under the gaze of the moon,
the young woman with gray hair advances,
her cracked skin a canvas of terror,
a painting done with the ink of the supernatural.
