The Legend of the Slit-Mouth Woman

In a town where whispers wove tales of old,

Lily, with brushes, tales in pigments she told.

A comment mysterious on her screen did appear,

Challenging her talents, tinged with palpable fear.

Of a woman concealed, with a surgical guise,

Her legend as chilling as winter's cold skies.

"Am I pretty?" she'd query, her voice a faint knell,

The fate of her victims, only time would tell.

Mask removed, her horror displayed, a mouth torn wide,

Answer wrong, and in darkness, you'd surely reside.

Lily, intrigued, painted this dread, her hand never shook,

But shadows and murmurs her studio overtook.

Cameras glitched, eerie whispers grew bold,

Yet Lily pressed on, her story retold.

Yet on the eve of her video's grand online day,

She dreamt of the specter, urging her to dismay.

The screen flickered, a bloodied mask flashed so brief,

Her audience gasped, suspended in disbelief.

Lily tried to erase, to shun the grave mistake,

But the video lingered, a haunted keepsake.

Pursued and panicked, by visions so near,

A slit-mouthed phantom, ever drawing near.

Desperate and trembling, she sought to appease,

With an apology whispered, begging for release.

But the spirit, unyielding, her wrath never waned,

Lily's hope diminished, her spirit was chained.

To expel the terror, the truth she must hear,

Yet the answer she found was her deepest, gravest fear.

For in the heart of the legend, the finale was clear:

Lily met her demise, her mouth slit ear to ear.