The Nøkken

The moon reflects brightly off the secluded pond in the woods by which you’re taking a stroll. Suddenly, you hear the faint strains of a violin and you stop in your tracks. A chill runs down your spine as you hear a beautiful yet sorrowful voice sing, “Where by the marishes boometh the bittern, Nøkken the soulless one sits with his ghittern. Sits inconsolable, friendless and foeless. Waiting his destiny, Nøkken the soulless.”