Silken strands like spider's threads,
Whispering wind where none ought stir.
Darkened veil across the sky,
Shred the clouds and steal the lie.

Silver not within that place,
Dark of moon and summon fae.
Up the knife and down the point.
Dance in circle, shadows call.

But dark the sky, and not of clouds;
Hot the breath and wither plant,
Turn the wheel and turn the Engine,
Lichs that over graves will prance.

Return, reborn, she casts her hood,
Down the sleeves, conceal the blood,
Silken, golden, in the wind,
Her hair does whip, her feet are clad.

In ebony; her gown is red,
Her cheeks are pale, her lips are curved.
Two horns above upon her brow,
(Which Magnagoran comes anow?)

Then through the nightbound crowds she moves,
Fair and slight, and breathing naught,
Engine's Daughter, Taintling's own,
Yet with a rose upon her breast.

And who shall strike that lonely pose,
Which hand shall pluck the thorny rose?
Silken strands like spider's threads,
Shadows rise where slippers tread.

Through the gate and through the stones,
Dust where rain shall never fall,
Where demons prate and ur'Guard prattle,
Touch of death, and bones shall rattle.

Down the stairs and round and round,
Up from cellars, higher still,
Silken slippers, marble floors,
Torchlit hall and golden thralls.

And who shall cross that gilded hall?
Who shall set the trap to fall?
Darkened veil across the sky,
Silken hair and slitted eyes.

Calmly pause within the arch,
To prayers the warden, devoted son,
Then move aside to shadow's dark;
The guard shall pass and nothing see.

Over stone and up the stair,
To a knee as if to pray,
But not to demons foul and fair,
Nor Mother Night nor shadowed fae.

Picks of iron, silver, gold,
Drawn from breast of dwarven oath,
To the lock and to her quarry,
Whispers prayers to lock and doorway.

Then click and clack, the lock is shifted,
Silken feet move through the door.
The scroll is hers, the precious philter,
But what shall step across the floor?

Sword is raised in orclach anger,
Priest is calling thralls to hunger,
Ninjakari, shadows gather,
Mage to shake the stones asunder.

Then quick, a glance, the tower window!
Viscanti flung, and nothing matter,
Towards the stones and towards the mortar,
Yet swift the whistle; answer, thunder!

Call the night and call the broom,
Rise above and mock below,
Call the shadows round their tower,
The storm, the Night, and Mother's power!

Soft rains shall fall where once she tread,
Shadows gather where she danced.
Through the Night the witch's laughter,
Far from Engine, Mother's daughter.