Chronicles of Lady Death - Countess Of Death

"Why should I fear death?
If I am, then death is not. If Death is, then I am not.
Why should I fear that which can only exist when I do not?..." - Epicurus

Youth, the fountain of joy, yet thee evade my grasp,
Youth, the lust of freedom, born out of a divine lie.

The blood of the un-bled, I hope is my cure,
As I lay, parched from within, yet wet to my core,
Crimson stains, they refuse to wash off.

Youth, the forbidden truth, suckling on death.
Youth, Edith's worry, a mystical piece of jewel.

Here I grow old, time my foe, it grows, it wriggles, 
Scarred by time, I wrinkle, shrivel, yet 
Thee oh my love, I bathe in, as I inch closer to death

Youth, the unquenchable thirst, hope of death,
Youth, thou the lavish fantasy of men.

I have bathed a million times, yet time wins,
Time my foe, since I first knew love,
You will wither, he said, a kiss his farewell.

Youth, the unfound treasure, I yern for thee,
Youth, behold your mistress, make me yours.

They stand at my gate, a hundred deaths upon me,
They stand to judge, I wash my hands in blood,
I am yours, Oh fable of the victorious.

I am yours my love, and in death we shall be one.

- Elizabeth Báthory

The Chronicles of Lady Death - Olga of Kiev

The three horsemen smiled,
One by one she called their names,
Rise they did, from graves forgotten.

Pestilence my friend, she would sing,
As men burned in the bathrobe,
The best of their land, burned to ashes,
'No more suitors', the Pale horseman sang.

The wise and righteous of the land folcked,
War smiled, as he sharpened the swords,
Bidding her cry for revenge, patience a fools virtue

Patience paid its wage, in her court,
As he wetted his blade, bathed in blood,
Olga smiled, as five thousand lay dead,
Soldiers sheathed their swords, so did the Black horseman, 

Her long lost love she mourned,

Olga wailed, as her love lay drenched in crimson.

The lure to mourn spawned the empire.

Famine hit the twenty of the best, 

Dirt rose high, life smothered till the last breath.

The White horseman raised his sword,

As he stole the dying breath, of the men who came to mourn.

My son shall live on, Olga chimed,

For a price of pigeons and sparrows, three a piece,
Fire rained from heavens, Gomorrah witnessed its end.

Death devoured her love,   Drevlian murderers,
She mourned long and hard,
As she became the last rider of apocalypse,
Thus was sang the chronicles of lady death,

The chronicles of Saint Olga of Kiev's

St. Olga of Kiev - Wiki

The Chronicles of Lady Death - Ya'el

"Oh righteous woman, of the tribe of Kenites,

Let me rest my head for a while,

Lest I be captured, tortured  and killed,

For my iron-bound chariots are stuck,

Stuck at the nature's mercy"

"Oh righteous woman, of the tribe of Kenites,

Let me rest my head for a while,

My foot is sore, and my enemies close to heal,

For my iron-bound chariots are stuck,

Stuck at the nature's mercy"

"Oh righteous woman, of the tribe of Kenites,

Let me rest my head for a while,

I, Sisera, the commander of Jabin's army, am lost,

For my iron-bound chariots are stuck,

Stuck at the nature's mercy"

"I am Ya'el, of the tribe of Kenites,

The first wed of Heber,

You may rest, oh stranger, I plea, you rest,

For a prophecy looms in my shadows,

And the plague of death in yours"

"I am Ya'el, of the tribe of Kenites,

The first wed of Heber,

A blanket for your tired soul, oh sleep,

For a prophecy looms in my shadows,

And the plague of death in yours"

"I am Ya'el, of the tribe of Kenites,

The first wed of Heber,

A jug of milk, for your parched throat, drink

For a prophecy looms in my shadows,

And the plague of death in yours"

"I Deborah, the judge of the mighty,

And prophetess of the lost, says,

Raise your army oh Barak, raise it against Jabin,

Victory will be yours, against the mighty Sisera,

A victory honoured by a woman."

"I Deborah, the judge of the mighty,

And prophetess of the lost, says, 

The night would be rough and nature cruel, and behold

Victory will be yours, against the mighty Sisera,

A victory honoured by a woman."

"I Deborah, the judge of the mighty,

And prophetess of the lost, says, 

Cannan is yours, yours for the taking, and descry, 

Victory will be yours, against the mighty Sisera,

A victory honoured by a woman."

The hour struck late, and the prophecy fulfilled,

As sleep swept in Sisara's dreams,

A tent peg, in one hand, and mallet in other,

A strike, and two, victory followed,

As Ya'el drew the peg into Sisara's temples.

Ya'el (Jael) - Wiki

The Chronicles of Lady Death - Prologue

Hold still my love,

Let me caress your dying breath.

Hear my heart beat,

In wail of the approaching death.

Hold still my love,

Let me caress the amber sun,

I promised love, 

Ah, pain of the departed one.

My heart raises in fury,

My heart burns with anguish,

The sight of you, my love,

Hell maketh best,  I wish.

Hold still my love,

Let my anger burn down valleys,

Hear my silent plea,

Oh death, I cherish my malice.

A child lost, a love lost, 

My love, I daresay,

I shall burn the cities,

I shall parade them in hearse. 

The Chronicles of Lady Death.