The sky crackled, a strange energy had come.
Banks of dark clouds hid the stars from sight.
But lightning filled the sky with light.
The wind moaned like the spirits of the dead.
The rain battered on windows like a drum in your head.
A figure all in black stood silently on the hill,
She was waiting for the villagers, her death to fulfill.
A flash of lightening lit up her face,
The expression of sadness seemed quite out of place.
On such a youth, a beauty shone forth.
That she was cursed was her believed worth.
She had been named a witch three times,
For bewitching the hearts of men, such crimes
Had they tried on her, her rejections to them,
This twisted curse had its evil stem.
Her raven hair blew wildly in the wind's drum,
As she waited quietly for the villagers to come.
Green eyes streamed with their own rain,
Waiting in the darkness alone with her pain.
They drew closer with torches bright.
Still she stood alone like a pillar might.
The misguided villagers drew ever nearer,
She waited only for them to kill her,
Another dark night some few days later.
The pyre of the villagers burns to hate her,
It is the only light which cuts through this night,
And shows a dying witch-girl who refuses to fight.
Suddenly a storm cuts through the skies,
And the binding around the witch-girl unties.
Her body falls to the wet grass and is still
The villagers run screaming away from the hill.
The girl is indeed a witch as they say,
One who was lost, but now has a way.
Sometimes she stands on that same dark hill,
And creates a storm out of her own will.
The villagers still life in dread and fear,
That the witch-girl's vengeance will find them here.
The girl herself leaves them alone,
Their fear itself, she feels, lets them atone.
She knows no need for vengeance, or revenge
Instead she leaves until their ignorance amends.
She now has a power beyong all their dreams,
Nothing in this world is ever what it seems.
