Lights quiver over kelpies pool,
luring,
seductive,
Reflecting upon their faces,
Wallowing in despair.
The lost souls of the dead.

She searches by flight,
For the victim escaped.
In tru form,
She is an omen of death and destruction.
Crazed sister to Arturius.

The dance begins.
The dead and fey gather to celebrete the eve of Midsummer.

Shadows disobey their masters,
Skipping through the stones,
Searching. . .

The Earth must be fed,
Yearning the ritual blood.
The ancient promise must be fufilled.

The scent of Hawthorne is pungent upon the air
As the victim is brought forth,
Shackled in thorn of Holly;
The Year King to be sacrificed.