Crimson Veil Witch

In ruins where the cold winds wail, Dwells the Witch of the Crimson Veil, With raven threads and cursed attire, Eyes alight with funeral fire. Her hands are blades, her breath a spell, She knows the secrets corpses tell. She hunts beneath the blood-soaked moon, And sings in flayed and hollow tune. A stitched heart glows within her chest, Dark artistry at its grotesque best. Her prey she skins with surgeon grace, To craft her masks of stolen face. Her throne of bones, her crimson grail— A skull once filled with prince’s tale. She sips the soul from every head, And paints in gore the lives she’s bled. Macabre muse of haunted halls, A queen where no salvation calls. A masterpiece in human dread— She carves her truth from flesh and thread. (Apologies for the poem yall I have nothing more to say other than abe what you want and who you want. Alright I'll shut up now.) (Let me know in the comments what i could have done differently)