From oldenytime this mournful rhyme Doth echo in my ears; I tell it true, this tale of two Who should have loved for years.

For she was fair as light and air, And he was strong and dark. She to the throne was next in line; He, too, had made his mark.

He went away one fateful day To fight on foreign land. And there he fell, 'mid battle's knell No more to claim his lady's hand

And then one night by lantern light, They saw him in the town; His face, they say, was gray as clay, And in his hands lay a bloody gown.

Men from town did track him down, And staked the villain's heart; And when they brought him into town His woman wept upon his cart.

And then her skin grew pale and thin, Her eyes shone wild and bright. Her blood-thirst grew; the hunters knew, She must be killed that very night.

The deed was done on sacred soil, Much to the town's great shame. Its keepers fled, the grove, soon dead, Was then consumed by vengeful flame.

The townsfolk cry, and from the sky, Come tears of bloody red; They stain the very rocks themselves, These tears of the undead.

So listen well, to this tale I tell, Let love not blind your sight. When undead call, avoid the fall; Stay pure, my friend, stay bright!

Lisa Smedman,
for Castles Forlorn, TSR Inc.