Beneath the stars on a moonless night,
Lay Crimson Lake, a dreadful sight.
Its waters shimmered, red as blood,
Reflecting secrets, churning in flood.
The forest whispered, “Stay away,”
For those who entered lost their way.
A curse lay deep, in shadows bound,
Where silence ruled, no life was found.
Long ago, they say, it thrived,
A village merry, full of life.
But greed and wrath, a dark spell cast,
And drowned their souls in waters vast.
Now, on the lake, a phantom boat,
With lantern dim, is said to float.
It calls to those who dare to dream,
Of treasures buried beneath the stream.
A wanderer bold, named Elias Gray,
Ignored the warnings, come what may.
He rowed across the crimson tide,
Seeking the riches the lake would hide.
The air grew thick, the winds grew still,
A shadow rose, against his will.
A woman wept, her face a blur,
Her voice a haunting, hollow stir.
“Turn back, young fool, while yet you can,
For greed devours both beast and man.
The lake takes all, it spares no breath,
Its treasure, a gateway to endless death.”
But Elias smirked and paddled on,
Ignoring cries of the spectral song.
He dove beneath the icy cold,
Where jewels and gold in heaps were bold.
He filled his sack, his heart alight,
But then the depths revealed their blight.
Hands of bone, both pale and stark,
Dragged him down into the dark.
Now Crimson Lake still calls to more,
Its cursed depths an open door.
Beware, brave souls, of treasures fake,
For death awaits at Crimson Lake.