The Wailing Banshee of Lamentation Ridge

In Lamentation Ridge, where shadows twist and moan, A banshee's wail, a sorrow's icy bone. Through mist-clad moors, her keening cry takes flight, A harbinger of death, beneath the dying light.

For centuries she's roamed, a spectral, shrouded form, A crown of thorns upon her head, a face contorted in a storm. Her emerald eyes, once filled with love, now glow with vengeful fire, A chilling echo of a love betrayed, a murderous desire.

Legend speaks of Moira, promised to a groom so grand, But stolen by a rival's hand, beneath the setting sun's command. On her wedding morn, a dagger's kiss upon her snowy skin, Left her love to mourn, a life forever dimmed within.

Now when sorrow strikes, or life's frail thread gives way, The banshee's cry will pierce the night, a haunting, mournful lay. The keening rises, chills the bone, a symphony of despair, A wretched song that steals the soul, and leaves a heart laid bare.

So heed the wind's wild whisper, as it carries on the breeze, For if the banshee's wail you hear, your final moments appease. For death will follow swift and sure, upon her ghostly call, The banshee's curse on Lamentation Ridge, to haunt and terrify all.