Upon her breath, the south west winds return with chilling force, upon her air of vision we’re enchanted by the source. Upon her spells of wisdom is a founding sense of guile, impressed within her nature and the logic, she’d defile. Upon her hex, the words are read in nature with our themes, upon the walls of vanquishment they’re banished with our dreams. Her wicked snarl in terms will seek the spectres’ she would wake, upon the spirit in her form and evil senseless hate. Her magic wakes the dead within the looming midnight breeze, upon the coldest plights in fate her destinies conceived. Beneath the moonlit mantle, and beneath the stars in flight, her visions are beguiling as her ghost within the night.