In a village where roses refused to grow,
Lived a girl with skin like winter snow.
Eyes of violet, lips of flame,
Men would whisper the devil knew her name.

She danced by the river at midnight’s toll,
With a smile carved deep from a shattered soul.
No one dared to ask her why,
For those who loved her came to die.

A noble knight once kissed her hand,
Promised to make her heart feel grand.
But when he held her close that night,
She wept, then tore his throat with delight.

Her tears were blood, her breath was fire,
A heart possessed by dark desire.
For deep beneath her silken skin,
Lived a nest of demons clawing within.

One, with horns like broken glass,
Whispered truths no priest would pass:
"She is ours, and we are she"
"Bound by pain, eternally."

Yet love, a curse she could not kill,
Drew her nightly to the hill
Where a dying warlock cast his spell,
To break the chains of love and hell.

But spells like these demand a price
A soul, a scream, a heart of ice.
She kissed the warlock, soft and slow,
Then ripped his chest with one last blow.

The demons roared in lustful glee,
As crimson rained from every tree.
Yet in that gore she whispered low,
"Love me, damn me, let me go."

And somewhere in that bloody dusk,
Where moonlight reeked of death and musk,
She danced alone, her smile wide
The demons now her groom, her guide.

Forever bound in beauty’s shame,
The Crimson Bride without a name.