It was a quiet night, her soul slipped through her body, into the stars of the twilight, She would die with every day, With the sun's last ray's fading light, In her sleep, Her spirit wandered free, Into the misty tranquil woods, Her fingers touching every tree, But tonight, wasn't like every night, A swirl of a finger, pulled her back, At first she was aghast, eyes full of fright, And then she saw the ever enigmatic, wizard's eyes, Was it an illusion or was is true? The dilemma was shattered, as she felt his hands, swiftly running through, With a black ink and and eagle's feather, The wizard seemed to be penning, around her navel, some letters, She stayed still, lost into his magical artistry, all she could fathom, were the racing fingers, The subject, was still a mystery, As the morrow's first rays glistened, She saw her soul hurl back, and her frame stiffened, I saw her as I looked into the mirror, A chant written, around
