Twisted Strings

I am a daughter of the holy light
forged from ashes of the fallen glory
and bathed in starlit reverence gold,
I keep a secret sadly told.

He hails from the mighty Magnagora
strong and solid in his intent
and wielding harsh his tainted lyre,
his voice rings out the will of Aia.

His magic is of a steady stream
the awful tune of the necroscream
yet in those tainted haunted notes I find
a music born on sweeter air.

Through the starfall pool I lean
and flee from all which frightens me
the burning light will blind the darkness
waiting in his eyes.

I play the perfect third in time
to the cathedral's somber chime
yet on my knees I still believe
there's a softer shadow calling me.

Beyond the great Northwestern gate
past the forest where pixies play
I'll walk the endless winding way
until I hear his demon hymn.