I left my sweetest soldier to go sailing across the sea
Though flowers bloomed and beetles buzzed
There I could not stand to be

I worked for hours on my island sitting in the west
Plucking feathers and butterfly wings for my king to see
Hypothetical horrors forever clawing at my chest

I received letters from my soldier when the sky was drenched with red
Written in her curled script and adorned in her family's crest
Though her words were gentle they did little to ease my dread

She told tales of made-up magpie dragons waiting at the harbor to whisk me away
Trying to plant seeds of shining thought into my shy head
But all I could see was the ragged beast turning towards his new prey

I sent letters back, of course, laden with pressed flowers
I hoped the goldenrod would reach her by the break of day
For I alone, it seemed, knew of its potential powers

She returned my nervous musings quickly, telling me to cease my fear
Saying that she and her knights were never ones to cower
Still, I wished so desperately that she was near

We exchanged our little letters for months on end
Until one day, things ceased to be so clear
That scratched script was not that of my beloved friend

She insisted it was, in many a letter
But for all her insisting, she could scarcely pretend
I knew her hands did not tremble so like aspen leaves blown by foul weather

I sent her Christmas roses that I knew she couldn’t resist
To catch her eye, I also sent her little white locks of heather
Though, I could only see the metal-forged fennel wrapped around her wrist

If she could hardly write on her own, how is she supposed to defend a king?
She'll try to lead her knights, regardless, and this time the enemy won't miss
Their hated blades will scar her shoulder with only a single swing


I could not think in the daytime and I could not sleep at night
My hands twisted in my sheets, fearing what news her next letter would bring
My mind only saw the beasts and berserkers that she would have to fight

Her letter did not come in the morning and it had not come by noon
I begged the empty air to tell me everything would be all right
But, my only companion in my panicked pacing was the slowly rising moon

It came when I watched butterflies, and I found I could no more pluck their wings for prizes
The writing was not hers and to this I could not attune
I only hoped the letter held no more dark surprises

“My Lady is ill,” or so it read
I scratch at my nails and bite my lips as my fear rises
“She wants to see that exile,” and so it said

I stared at the misplaced paper with the hated script
Though it was only parchment, it sat in my hands like lead
Through my wavering heart had the scribe’s words ripped

I wanted to send my letter quickly, praying I would not be too late
or, at least, I hoped, it would not see her in her crypt
A scribe’s reply was now the only thing I could await.

What traitorous gods tapped the poison from my mind and forced it down her throat?
I ran to the beach in search of some ship, my heart fluttering in a butterfly’s rate
How can I protect her with only the words that I wrote

I pushed through blackberry brambles that ripped my skin and hair
I wished no more to send her just one more final note
I reached the beach to see my soldier’s ship, but no fanfare

“Exile, come not nearer,” I heard the guard say
For all my troubles, I had thought, fate has hardly been fair
“We will take your letter and leave by close of day”

I saw the ship sail towards the sun, away to my friend who is ill
she will be okay
That’s what I tell myself, but some thoughts I can not ****