The Veil Keeper

Beneath the moon’s pale, sallow gaze,
Through cloisters thick with spectral haze,
She walks where time itself lies still,
A servant to the spirit’s will.

By touch, the echoes rise and sing,
A mournful, spectral murmuring.
From rusted blade to tarnished chain,
She reads the scars of love and pain.

The locket bleeds a lover’s vow,
A faded kiss, a furrowed brow.
The shattered urn, the weeping stone,
Whisper of lives now overthrown.

Her dreams are crypts of long-lost years,
Of silken screams and shadowed tears.
The past unfurls in hues of dread,
A dance of ghosts, the silent dead.

A cursed gift, her spectral sight,
Unveils the sins cloaked in the night.
Each relic, trembling in her hand,
Reveals a sorrowed, silent land.

The spirits call with siren moans,
Their voices chilled as ancient bones.
They wrap around her fragile frame,
And breathe to her their whispered names.

Through chapel ruins, dark and cold,
She bears their burdens, grave and old.
Yet in her eyes, a fire remains,
A torch that burns through death’s domains.

But oh, the cost, the ceaseless plight—
To be the bridge 'twixt dark and light.
To tread where mortal feet should fear,
Among the lost who linger near.

Forever bound, a soul apart,
The ghost-seer with the haunted heart.
A tragic warden of the past,
Her solitude a spell steadfast.