A Wolf in Witch Doctor's Clothing

In the beginning, God chose a lady,
To embody the broken seal of death,
Yet no knight's tongue uttered "Oh, milady,"
For this witch doctor stole away their breath.
With tonics and incantations alike,
She pledges to purge the Devil within,
And as their eyes close, she readies her strike,
To tenderly disrobe them of their skin.
For social class is not a credential,
In order to dine with this fair maiden,
She tastes the air, gauging your potential,
So with much fragrance, must you be laden.
Many a man has she feasted upon,
Slain by their religious superstitions,
Dressing them up in a wreath of chiffon,
While she is silent, she loves exhibition.
Yet despite her entree's loud objections,
Her garb carries a muted impression,
With a long beak to ward off infections,
And glassed eyes that make you her possession.
Beware the demon in her ghastly robes,
Convincing the healthy into illness,
Who whispers of tales of your future woes,
To coerce you to a state of stiffness.