Within my stone-bound walls I weep,
A prisoner, unseen,
The echoes of my captors’ sins,
Etched deep within my seams.

The witches came, their words like fire,
Their blood, a crimson vow,
And now my halls are cold and bare,
Though spirits linger now.

For towers stand, but never speak,
Our truths a lonely grave,
Yet I will hold their stories close,
The lost, the damned, the brave.