She longs for blood, glory to her name,
Beckoning death over her crimson frame.
Her boots whisper prayers to the dead,
Each step hymns a song, thread by thread.
Silver thorns curl like bangles on wrist,
Her eyes hold secrets that burn and twist.
A Koel sits upon her corset's flame,
Weaving a legend no heart could tame.
She breathes in shadows, a haunting decay,
A mistress of silence, concealed in play.
She brings the darkness to bless the night,
Her beauty, a dangerous but pleasing sight.