She came to me from across the bog
across reddened water and woeful fog.
A bloody stone upon her hip
and a barbarous sword within her grip.
Shimmering as though through coloured glass,
faded, ghostlike, atop the cursed morass.
Her ashen feet hardly upon the water disturbed
but for small quivers, as if in sapience perturbed.
She sang a song to chill the heart,
beautiful, but dread and foreboding it did impart
for the bloody water, in the moon’s nightly glow
began at once to boil and rock and throw.
I heard its screams above my own,
Watched it rise, twisted, fighting the pulsing stone.
Through the air it rushes and glides
still in anguish as it fills up my insides.
Now, at last, my life is sewn
and down inside, yawning wide, lies the deep unknown.
Here it comes—wider, darker, deeper
silent, breathless, waiting—the Reaper.
something fun I cooked up this morning; the ghostlike appearance and water-walking is intended to represent her Mask of intangibility in use, and the red water indicates that it is under the power of the Nui Stone.