There is love in your body but you can't hold it in,
It pours from your eyes and spills from your skin,
Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks,
And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

Ever considerate, compassionate, altruistic, the femme had courted her heart time and time again to soothe the ache of despondency, to cherish the world, shower it with benevolence, but had never felt the assuage truly flow through their livelihoods. They smiled for her, pretended, forcing a farce, charmed for minutes until the next nightmare reeled from their minds, and the passion of their melancholy stole them once more. But Lena, sweet, dear Lena, who could combine strength from the shards of her own morose intimacies and interludes with life, didn’t hold the ability to conjure their wounds to close, remaining open, torn, frayed. This blessing, this enchantment, that the Sun God was willing to bestow upon her entity, was an overwhelming puissance that she never thought she’d contain. A benediction, a conviction, that she’d woven through her sienna body, from the depths of despair to the heights of humanity – through his charity, through his graces, she could ignite the desolation from companions, could incense the forlorn from friends, could repair shattered warriors amongst the heartbeats of war. She listened, grateful, beholden, indebted, ears twisting to ensnare the words he spoke, cherishing them and their proffered gifts, the brilliance of her smile fostered across her mouth. A song; she had to write verses, lyrics, stanzas drawn from the corridors and hallways of her life, the muse that kept her whole, provided the gentle air of her rapture and reveries. What laced her together, what captured her attention the most in this sparkling array of life? The birds’ own gentle music? The repose of spring? The nurturing boughs of leaves and pine? The sky, the sea, the clouds? He’d proclaimed a great realm of discovery, and oh, her grin couldn’t, wouldn’t, refused to vanish, strung by the angelic, Elysium haze, warm eyes rushing to meet his stare, a gaze she could only call kind. Though she would never be as radiant as he, the embarking of her quest, the potential of its clamor, of its promise, and the resonance of its illustrious keen made her ever more resplendent. She delivered her third bow to him, arched her elegant nape until it swung her noble head towards the ground, before rising again, grace and refinement with the beam of her happiness roaming over beneficent features. She couldn’t thank him enough, but tried, in the serenity of her bliss, mellifluous words pouring across her lips. “I am indebted to your grace. Thank you.” The fae paused, catching her breath in the euphoria of flame and ignition. “I will return.” With a twist of her body, she was gone, into the elation of her crusade.