A village cloaked in mist and lore,
By the rugged, whispering shore,
There dwelt a woman, pale and meek,
Her hair, like night without a star,
Veiled secrets that had traveled far.
For within her, in silent wrath,
Lurked an octopus's shadowy path.

Its tentacles, a hidden blight,
Twisted in her soul, out of sight.
By day a specter, by night more,
A creature of the deep sea's floor.
In her mouth, a scary scream,
A horror that seemed but a dream.
Yet in her gaze, the depth of night,

Each step she took was a silent plea,
A dance with dread, a hidden decree.
The villagers felt a shiver, a cold whisper,
Of the horror from her, a dark, sinister slither.

In her silence, the octopus thrived,
In the shadows where terror is derived.
A suspense, a story untold,
So remember her tale, when by the sea,
Of the woman and the octopus, never free.
A saga of horror, under moon's crest