The trees in the forest stand mute. The luminous moon radiates. Little can be heard. An owl hoots. Nightingales sing. A waterfall roars in the distance, but from here it is nothing more than a whisper.
But there is a woman and she walks alone. She is the Enchantress.
Magical and beautiful, she is as elegant as the moon that illuminates her. She is not just like the moon, she is the moon, in all its mystery.
She gives and she takes. She creates and she destroys. She is merciful and she is ruthless. She is all those things.
She is as bountiful as the sea and is as warm as a summer day. She is also as cold as the most bitter blizzards and is as harsh as the storm.
She calls out to those who may hear her, and they come to die for her.
She is so beautiful that there is no other way to honor her. They die because death is beauty. Beauty is death and in blood luminous forms can be found.
She is the enchantress. Beautiful and horrific in every way.
