Missed them bringing back Banshee Bones
But when I stooped to gather holy stones
To make a marker for the latest martyr taking the journey home
Accidentally brushed a banshee’s comb
All night beneath my window she sat, a wailing crone
Like a drowning cat, her keening drone
Seeming to say “Your life is not your own.”
Though I am young, I am become old,
You go to that black carriage when told.
Alchemisland 
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