Work Text:
Straw hair, leaf veils—
I wake with soaked skin and the feeling of
Phantom grit on my palms
They swear swords and
Shields carved callouses in my grip, in my heart
Yet my mind rebels, and my body erupts into Calamity
I find joy in the birds,
And the land, and under bricks that used to belong to castles—
Within crumbling clay, shattered windows, and the aged wood of empty cradles
To be a hero: to be a knight—
A traveler. Swords can carve pretty things too:
To be a legacy: to be a hope, an omen
I dream of a Princess and of an apocalypse—
There is crimson and shadows and sometimes,
I wake up to find a sword in hand, almost familiar
And sometimes I think of four friends—
Held in the clouds, pushed onto pedestals so high, that their kindness and pain, and despair and defeat sends me to tears
Kneeling in puddles with a shield overhead to hide from the rain
One day I bow in front of her and pray for forgiveness—
Salvation from my punishment
For what else could this existence be?
I crave to Master the beast, I crave to avenge the Champions—
…yet with what Hero?
She, in all her power, has forgotten him as well
So why does my soul grow fuller?
Why does my heart beat faster and my breath pull deeper—
Why does this endless fate carry me along further?
We do not succumb to turning leaves and the promise of snow—
But to eternal winter, proof of endless sorrow,
And a farewell to the Wild