In silence lies the syllable I dare not speak aloud,
A shadowed vow beneath my breath,
A name that wraps me in a shroud.
He moves in dreams-no footfall heard,
But still I feel him, like a word
That lives between the lines of verse,
Both a blessing and a curse.

His hands-have they held flame or frost?
No matter. I would bear the cost.
For even if the stars fell blind,
I'd trace him in the dark, divined.
Each scar he bears, I've kissed in thought,
Each wound a story passion wrought.
He is not here. He never was.
Yet still, my soul obeys his laws.

The sea between us, cruel and vast,
Cannot erase what fire has cast.
He sleeps-or so the tale repeats-
Entombed in silence, bound in heat.
But I would wait a thousand years
To cup his voice and drink his tears.
To feel his breath ignite my skin,
To call him home, to draw him in.

So though I dare not speak his name,
It brands me still, a sacred flame.
He is the echo in my chest-
The ache, the oath, the long unrest.
And if he never wakes again,
Then let my love become the pen-
And I will write him into skies
Until the stars forget to rise.

- for the knight who scorched my soul...

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Sarapin, in the year 982 AF.