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Arisen with dusk, her form ascends
As her chariot soars the Carpathians
Her eyes e’er black as a raven’s syzygy among her steed’s descent
Darvulia waits near the fortress gates
Descending Cahtice her steeds in haste
The ardent night’s fog surrenders in awe to the countess’ form whose hair set the sky aflame
…
Come now, my queen, o’er the archangel’s flight
A virgin to whore I wish thee of this night
A Carnival of Fables 