Poplar
A bloodbound heart, enchanted by the glory of the night, a priestess of the moon. She dances with the midnight, buries her fangs into her wrists, sips the starry gush.
"Surround me with a wreath of hellebores, wrap me with shadows and mist. My mind drifts in unlight, trees murmur, covered with a gauzy silk. My feet give birth to thorns, wolven eyes follow me as I sink between the boughs. Unseen folk clap restlessly, invoking the ancients."
A poplar witch, a maiden of the woods, a wild child of the northern passages.