Changeling from Arstotzka
The shadow of the Crystal queen creeps across your floor. Go lock up all your children and paint blood upon your door. These mines are filled with whispers of a mare all dress in red. At the toll of death’s knell, she climbs from Tartarus to drag some poor soul back. Legends speaks of angels doing service unto Faust. The Crystal queen knows no master. She drinks from any cup poured. Just as banshees wail their warnings that someone that same day will die, the Crystal queen stay the same and I’ll be damned if she tells a lie. Some falsely say that whippoorwills are the harbingers of death. No, it’s the Queen’s black mist that’ll seize your living breath. You’ll see her come into town all dressed up like a tomb. When you see her that eve on the outbound street, you know some soul met their doom. The Crystal queen raises no hoof but all fear her just the same. Her presence foretells both blood and death, yet she shoulders not the blame. Like the shadow of the vulture circling blackly overhead, Queen Umbra is drawn to death like a spear is drawn to red.
