The Creator dreamed of Beauty,
and She awoke with Him at dawn.
Her heart He shaped from Love forgotten,
Her voice from purest melody.

Art beheld in wonder,
His words falling short, just once.
He wove a place from winter's light,
to draw Her emerald gaze and hold it.

A flower trembled in His hand,
and Love bent near to see.
Her breath grew faint with binding,
Her pale skin paler still.
The Sun blazed at Love's silent trembling,
and bade the Bard to loose His vow.

When promises lay broken, Her vitality returned,
and Her veil stirred soft with breath.
For Love belongs to all that lives,
and none may call Her theirs.
In sorrow, Song departed,
far-flung skies a canvas for His healing.

The Wild One knew Her laughter then;
She knew His untamed grace.
He revelled in Her boundless heart,
and She, for a while, was free.

He hunted then upon a world long cursed,
where pained howls marked His wounding.
Selfless Love dared all to save Her Beast,
before the Reaver's claws could fall.
They laid Him in His temple hall,
and Love kept watch in grief.

The Godslayer sensed Her weeping,
and struck again with a mocking smile.
Love's arrow sang through heartache,
and proved the Enemy could bleed.

But poisoned blood turned Her veils to black,
revealing Beauty before Her light withdrew.
Love's greatest gift is sacrifice,
the pain of loss its fiery proof.
All thought they knew the depths of mourning,
until the Wild One woke to find Her gone.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Sarapin, in the year 990 AF.