I'm the brink of darkness on the horizon, creeping slow to welcome night. A trio of films brought shame to strigoi lore, and wrecked the werewolf’s bite. I'm what arrives as the sun dips low, while stars blink on for nocturnal delight.

I can be pulled out from under you, Or greet you at the door, Come in wet and careless, And you'll hear about it for sure. What am I?

If you call my name, I will go away. What Am I?

Delicate dancer of the dawn, descending with grace, carrying hopes of harmony, yet never a trace of war's sound.

I arrive unseen, yet I’m hard to ignore, I trail soft memories you’ve felt before. I cling to napes and drift through a room, What am I, diffused and worn like a bloom?