Rubies steeped in pain

Beneath the moon’s unyielding stare, where cypresses lament,
A shadow drifts through midnight’s glare, her soul by sorrow rent.
No mortal tread disturbs her path, no warmth her heart may claim,
For she, the bride of death’s cold wrath, bears night’s eternal name.

Her eyes, like rubies steeped in pain, burn bright with hunger’s plea,
Yet tears of blood, like scarlet rain, fall silent to the sea.
Her lips, once soft with lover’s vow, now hide a fanged despair,
That drinks the life from those who bow, yet leaves her heart to tear.

In velvet black, her gown doth flow, a shroud of endless night,
Each step a dirge, each breath a woe, bereft of dawn’s soft light.
The castle keep, her prison vast, with ivy’s chains entwined,
Holds echoes of a love long past, now lost to mortal mind.

She haunts the halls where roses bled, their thorns her only kin,
And mourns the heart that once she fed, now dust beneath her sin.
His laughter rings in phantom tones, a ghost she cannot free,
His grave, beneath the ancient stones, her chain eternally.

O cursed gift, this deathless state, that binds her to the dark,
To roam where love and hope abate, no solace, not a spark.
Each soul she claims, a fleeting fire, but ashes soon remain,
Their warmth but fuels her deep desire, yet deepens all her pain.

At vesper’s call, she stands alone, where mists and shadows blend,
Her voice, a wail, a spectral moan, that none shall comprehend.
The stars, in cold indifference, gleam, no mercy do they show,
They mock her never-ending dream, where only anguish grows.

Let night enfold her broken form, let silence be her bed,
No dawn shall break this endless storm, no peace for her undead.
Beneath the yews, she’ll carve her cry, in blood upon the stone,
And pray the grave, at last, draw nigh, to claim her as its own.