Samantha; or A Confession to my Beloved

JoanOfArc

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Samantha; or A Confession to my Beloved


An artist's depiction of a typical a Vlachian woman of the forests, 62 AC.

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As the vibrant autumn sun ever grows
With the scarlet winter coming so close,
No matter my poor attempt to compose,
I have to, my darling, show and expose,
My heart.

“For shame, for shame,” those who wish us wrong say,
Voices in the fields of Calendale,
“You, fools, will never be happy and gay,”
And in my heart, I pray, we will not fail,
Not part.

Drunk, is this Wicked Prince off of your love!
To rule the world shall never be enough!
Warm and bright it is, a radiant sun,
And how odd, that it has only begun,
Our affection.

Mytra has truly blessed I and thee,
For no other woman can do for me,
And to have known you so soon in this life,
I tell you, I wish you to be my wife,
My confession.

I beg of you, never leave nor forsake,
For this true feeling I know cannot shake,
Proof alone lying in my foul heart ache,
So let no villain separate or break,
Our world.

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Samantha, I confess unto the world about that starry night I met you on the cliff under the lonesome tree. Never have I met anyone as beautiful or caring as you. To gaze into your moonlit eyes, I would have never given up anything for it. While I ponder you from the lands of your forefather to which I have resided briefly, know that I think of you. And of the glory you bring both to the Goddess and to the Kingdom when you face those who wish to do both harm. Keep faith in the Goddess and in your sword, and know that with that faith we shall meet once more.

I shall always love you, my beloved,
Miron of Vlachia
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Rainalyn

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The Mannhardt held the letter she had received a moment ago from the messenger bird. Her long nail curling under the wax seal, stamped with the crest of Vlachia. Samantha gently lifted the letter from the envelope, unfolding the parchment. Her breath hitched as she began to read the poem, a gasp leaving her rosy lips. Samantha's azure orbs shimmered with glee as she finished reading the missive. Gently placing the parchment into its respective holdings once more. Her left hand raising towards the sun, letting it shine in Mytra's glorious blaze as she looked to her ruby engagement ring. A fire being sparked within her soul "I look forward to our wedding day."
 
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Tide

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"So I could teach you poetry. Yet carry a sword, that you would not?" A semi-dissapointed father would comment, sad to see the Vlachian tradition of delivering an Elven ear alongside the letter slowly phase out of existence.
 

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