<center>
![ai-generated-8389208_1280.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmdju9Zw1pKWbPDidqjr25h39KdFrNn322yQt3nUJbWd8p/ai-generated-8389208_1280.jpg)
[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/illustrations/ai-generated-woman-countess-goddess-8389208/) </center>
<center>In the darkness her figure dances, with crimson lips like a curse, nocturnal eyes, skin like a shooting star, and a murmur that drives the moon mad.

<br> She was a maiden, she was a shadow, she was a legend, in fortresses where time is consumed, she sips memories, withered dreams and in her embrace, death hides.

<br> No cross can ward her off, nor prayer help her, her soul is an echo of forgotten eras, she wanders among tombs, her laughter slipping like a knife across sleeping necks.

<br> She savors pain with hidden tenderness and in each bite she leaves poetry, for her curse is not a mere formula it is art, it is longing, it is melancholy.</center>