The Enchantress and Her Tree

Her eyes bore into me like full blood moons on a winter night against a misty leaden sky
Her stare pierced through my clammy skin like rice paper; I never questioned why.
The way her voice rippled like a gurgling stream against slimy stones
Was enough to harden any poor mother's bones
She would drag me into a reality only her mind could see
And convince me that it was tangible if only I followed her into the woods to her tree.
Her tree was bare and wiry with age and death, nothing like the way she moved.
The branches creaked and groaned when stirred by the eerie wind; the bark was terribly grooved.
Anyone her spirit captured was guided to her tree
As her songs and chants echoed through the fog so her soul could be free.
As people were brought to her tree, the more people would vanish.
No matter how many people her spirit would capture, her soul never did banish.
As time marked her face, her eyes soon grew duller, her voice weaker.
As more victims perished from the earth, very few would ever seek her.
She soon left everyone alone as her soul was truly trapped.
And as for her tree, the trunk finally snapped.