Retribution’s Cold Grip

In chambers dark where candles glow,

A tale unfolds of woe and dread.

For long ago, through ice and snow,

A spirit roamed, her joy long dead.

She wandered 'cross the frozen moor,

Her psyche torn, her essence sore.

She had been wronged, her spirit bound,

By fiends who tortured mind and soul.

In chambers deep beneath the ground,

They broke her will, made horror whole.

The air grew cold, her eyes like ice,

A frozen gaze, exacting price.

Years passed away, the fiends grew old,

They thought they'd buried all their sins.

But specters rise when nights are cold,

Retribution then begins.

With frozen heart and ghostly might,

She haunts their dreams each endless night.

The walls ooze fear, the air turns chill,

As spectral footsteps echo near.

No warmth remains, all fires kill,

When ghostly whispers fill the ear.

Through frozen time, her vengeance lasts,

A payback for her tortured past.