She lived where no road dared to stay, where candlelight replaced the day. A lonely girl behind the door, with something sleeping on the floor. Lorna spoke softly, pale and still, her voice as gentle as the hill. She kept her secrets close and deep, while something restless stirred from sleep. A curse was woven through her blood, a hungry shadow, black as mud. Yet in her eyes there still remained a fragile light the dark had chained. The room grew cold, the candles bent, as though the house itself had sensed a presence creeping through the wall, a nameless hunger waking all. Lorna, Lorna, what lies underneath? A borrowed smile, a hidden grief. The sweetest heart can shelter night when something feeds upon its light. Lorna, Lorna, hear the darkness call, a whispered name beyond the wall. If love can break the oldest chain, then call her soul back home again. The beast within began to rise, behind those frightened human eyes. Her trembling hands, her fading breath— the room became a dance with death. No prayer could calm the thing below, no gentle word could make it go. And when the final veil was torn, the girl returned to what was born. Not every monster wears a face, not every curse is born of hate. Sometimes beneath the darkest skin, a frightened soul is trapped within. WAKE! THE HUNGER! BREAK! THE CHAINS! THE NIGHT WITHIN HAS FOUND A NAME! LORNA! LORNA! Lorna, Lorna, fight the night, hold to the last remaining light. If love can reach where fear has grown, then you don't have to face it alone. Lorna, Lorna, when the shadows cease, let the broken girl find peace. The curse may sleep, the wounds remain— but dawn can still return again. The house grows still... The candle dies... And something gentle opens its eyes.
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