Now Lady Denise was a woman of measure.

‘mongst all men appearing the most wonderful treasure.

Her face shone with the beauty of a hymn sung right.

Yet she was conceived of a crimson night.


Secret tales were abound of unholy desires.

Secret trails were found to where lonely campfires

told reflected visions of inhuman deeds,

where willing initiates offered unwilling seeds.


Yet Denise was a canny and wily host;

in deeds of darkness more deceitful than most.

For the townsfolk thought her the most delightful figure,

and of their stupidity she revealed not a snigger.


Now with the news of the horseman arrived,

gathered up Denise in her home, without pride,

her belongings and secrets of ritual portent,

fearing the wrath of the rider’s intent.


Recalled she her sins objectively,

and not with the eyes of those who might see

an evil deep inside her heart.

Lady Denise was a soul apart

who saw herself with a higher call

and held The Created World in thrall.


Whatever measures she had applied,

and whatever innocents had subsequently died…


for Denise this was the price to pay,

no matter what Pastor Bill did say.


As closed she the door on her home and her past,

a guilt gripped her soul which would not last.

Her belongings fell to the dusty ground

as suddenly heard she a snorting sound.


An unseen hoof clipped the earth nearby,

and released Denise an anxious cry.

Yet nothing could she see in the consuming night,

as the town beyond was drowned from sight.


Calming herself lest her fears mislead,

gathered she again her ritual need

and gripped she her gown as she walked away.

But, like all the town, she was destined to stay.


Not a score of steps had she taken from home

when something interrupted her desperate roam.

An unseen wall of magical despair…


Lady Denise was going nowhere.

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