Twas in a secret dream when rose your name,
A wanton wish to wet red trembling lips.
That single glimpse engulfed a heart in flame;
And sent a lonely queen between the hips.
The setting sun can never match your gaze,
Your voice brings songbirds down in swift disgrace,
And never shall a work of paint or clays
Bring justice to the beauty of your face.
And now the world is filled with ashen lust;
Tempations that to you cannot compare.
What this world holds is little more than dust.
A life without your love I do forswear.
And so I slip my gentle blade inside,
And with the flow of blood become your bride.
- Found among the bloodstained mementos of Queen Amaril Arbaski
Hope that was fast enough.