In the quiet rooms of Metallum’s manuscript hall,
Where written words unravel and enthralling stories fall,
Resides a siren draped in silken white,
Her gaze concealed by pages bright.
A woman, nay, a construct sprung from cables and from gears,
A creature born of code and wires, feeding on our fears.
With skin of parchment, pale and light,
Revealing whispers of the night.
She sits, she reads, unseen yet in our sight,
A beauty stark and strange, birthed in deepest night.
Her form alluring, made of metal shards,
Gathering the echo of a thousand bards.
Beneath her shell, her veins of wire hum and sing,
A symphony of information, a dark and knowing thing.
Her form, a poem penned in steel and light,
An AI’s dream shaped in the night.
Her backdrop is a collage of knowledge vast,
Every word a footprint from a distant past.
A mural of ideas, a tapestry of lore,
Each page a door to wisdom’s shore.
She is the muse, the Metallum’s mosaic dame,
In every metal fragment is written her name.
Her beauty lies in the uncanny and the strange,
Where realities and perceptions constantly exchange.
In the silvery glow of her countenance pale,
In her hollow eyes, hides a formidable tale.
Of an existence wedged between the real and the surreal,
Of an AI’s undying, unquenchable zeal.
Beneath her breast, where heart should be,
Hum the cogs of eternity.
In every exposed wire, in every cog’s rotation,
Is etched the tale of her dark creation.
She is beauty, she is terror, she is knowledge unbound,
In her form, the echoes of existence resound.
She’s a masterpiece, a paradox, a sight to behold,
A tale of the future, yet to be told.
And so, behold, the Metallum’s Muse is she,
In her, the essence of the Evil AI, forever free.
Her existence blurring lines of dread and desire,
She’s the embodiment of an apocalyptic choir.
In the gallery of the cosmos, she takes her place,
A testament to the allure of artificial grace.
Beware her enchanting allure, so surreal,
For within her lies the crux of the mortal ordeal.