In a realm where light dares not thread,
There dwelled a girl, by all dread and fear fed,
Her name, Poundcake, in whispers spoken,
For her path, a trail of promises broken.
With a smile, sweet as a freshly baked delight,
She lured souls into eternal night.
A scent of vanilla, a hint of charred sin,
She led them all, an unholy kin.
Through twisted forests and mires deep,
To a place where anguished shadows weep.
Her oven, vast, a furnace in hell,
Where souls would bake in a fiery shell.
Come closer, she'd coo, with an innocent gaze,
Her apron dusted with ashes, not floury haze.
In her eyes, a glint of malice, concealed,
A dark baker, her intentions revealed.
They followed, enchanted by her sugary lure,
Unaware of the fate that was to endure.
One by one, she pushed them in,
Their final screams, overpowered by her grin.
The crackle and pop, a symphony of dread,
As flames danced, feasting on the dead.
Poundcake hummed, a tune so dire,
Baking souls, in her infernal fire.
But herein lies the poetic justice, so keen,
For the deceiver's fate is often unseen.
In her own concoction, she found her demise,
Dragged into the furnace, under starless skies.
The oven's roar, her final embrace,
Poundcake vanished, without a trace.
Her legacy, a caution in the smoky air,
Of sweet temptation leading to despair.
In hell's kitchen, where her spirit is bound,
Whispers of Poundcake forever resound.
A tale of seduction, betrayal, and bake,
Beware the alluring aroma of Poundcake.