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By day the lake beside her keep,

A glassy void, serene and deep;

But night drew mist both wide and steep,

Where haunted shadows seem to creep.

They whispered of a ghostly wraith,

Countess Erzsébet, stained in faith;

For by the lake’s edge she would wait,

Her gaze lost in the waters’ weight.

A young man named Tomas one night,

Passed near the lake in fading light;

He saw her form, a chilling sight,

Veiled in dark robes, pale, ghostly white.

She moved like one of shadow's kin,

Her fingers tracing slow within

The lake, as though to find again,

Her lost reflection on the wind.

He neared, his heart with terror set,

As voices whispered, “Blood, regret…”

Her mournful cry, “Forgive? Forget?”

For shadows were her only debt.

Her eyes met his, a hollow stare,

A soul trapped in despair’s dark snare;

And images of blood laid bare,

Filled his mind with nightmares rare.

She murmured soft of beauty lost,

Of youth the shadows had embossed;

Of cruel acts and souls it cost,

Her guilt now drifted, sorrow-tossed.

The lake reflected her gaunt face,

A visage robbed of time and grace;

A wretched soul in dark embrace,

Bound to shadows she could not chase.

He reached to touch her misted frame,

To comfort all her ghostly shame;

But as he touched, the darkness came,

She vanished, whispering her name.

And on nights of silent air,

When fog surrounds the lake with care,

Her voice cries out, her soul laid bare,

“Forgive the blood I spilled in despair.”