This time it was heard,
the cry of a lonely werewolf
calling to the tower princess
to escape her living death;
She an orphan pent in a high cell
casting heated glances
to wandering knights errant
and singing a siren’s song
to be saved from herself.

Speaking the great grimoire
she weaves magic spells around
this cursed and enchanted forest,
while the broken and rusted armor
of those brave and chivalrous men
flash the omen white of bone
at the questing of beguiled ravens.

A fitting mate for the rising moon
he sings to her a lovesong
of a star-shaded meadow
the savage joy of a chase
ice-limned leaves and steaming blood;
Lures her out of her turret
to forsake her palace tomb
to sever her braid and run
with paws and bloody teeth.