Hilarity

An underdressed Elvish Kissandra hidden
In the oak lands, sings her fortuitous odes.
She strums her harp, her hands plucking
Melodious tones as they glide to and fro
In scales that petrify our egos senselessly.
Tripping in a weakened state, she slakes
Her treacherous bloodlust with a stake,
Crudely made, rapturously laughs, then
Appears to run with dislocated joints,
Deeply plunging it into our necks.

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