"Mirror, mirror on the wall. Shouldst not grave pleasures be my all?. For if I shall see thy Will be done. Grant Me the Witchcraft of thy tongue". . Three moondials froze in the shadow of six.
Spawned wanton like blight on an auspicious night. Her eyes betrayed spells of the moon's eerie light. A disquieting gaze forever ghosting far seas. Bled white and dead, Her true mother was fed.