With every move, she commands the night,
A ruler of darkness, a beacon of might.
Warden Shilkar, prisoner's last prayer,
In leather clad, with chilling stare.
She walks the halls, her power renowned,
With a fiery gaze and horned crown.

Her powerful legs, so long and lean,
End in cloven hooves of ash,
A stark contrast to the crimson gleam
That climbs her form in a sanguine splash.

A ruler of shadows, a keeper of pain.
Screams echo the halls of her prison domain,
Warden Shilkar, oblivion's skin
Throw me some manacles, and let the beatings begin!

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 21st of Haernos, in the year 2 AC.