She was spawned in a cosmic flood,
Molded of the moon’s own crimson blood.
In hushed whispers, the knotted old trees would say,
“This one is far too cryptic to be of the fey!
She has fire eyes, bat wings and glistening fangs!
Demons and hellhounds would yowl, if she sang!
She is a darkling, that’s all to be said…
The world would be less dark, if this one were dead.”