In the darkest night, where shadows creep, The Soulstitchers come when you should sleep. With gaunt and shadowy forms they stride, To haunted places, they will guide. Their flames are smoke, icy-cold and bleak, A formless fire that none can speak. Frantic movements, masks they wear, Tearing at their faces, a chilling scare. Yet in the silence, they move so sly, No sound to mark their passage by. To the site of trauma, they’ll lead you near, In hopes that you will face your fear. With them, your past they’ll help you mend, A journey through the dark, they’ll send. But beware the Soulstitchers’ plight, For in their presence, there’s no respite. So heed this rhyme when shadows play, And…