Written By Tikva
June 4, 2017, 9:51 p.m.(8/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ainsley
We are getting married in this autumn.
I'm still having a hard time believing it. I have to start figuring out what to write in my vows. Probably not just 'I swear to protect you from your own terribleness.'
I'm still having a hard time believing it. I have to start figuring out what to write in my vows. Probably not just 'I swear to protect you from your own terribleness.'
Written By Tikva
May 28, 2017, 4:42 p.m.(7/17/1006 AR)
Peregrine Grayson was my friend.
Daring, vibrant, and fierce--
I have tried to write a poem in eulogy. Fierce rhymes with pierce, daring rhymes with caring, vibrant rhymes with celebrant--
Sort of--
I don't have a poem for this. Peregrine's song is in the song of the birds -- the forlorn cry of the gull, the sweet trill of the mockingbird, the harsh caw of the crow, yes, but especially the falcon. Huntress, mighty and fierce and quick, with blood in its talons when it strikes clean and sure. Hunting bird, you faced prey too large for you, but you were the greatest of great hearts.
I will always treasure the confidence you offered me. I will wish for the open breadth of your perspective much in days to come, I think. But I hope the gods reunite you with your lost family, my friend.
Heron to falcon ... I will do my utmost to take down what slew you. We are, after all, both hunting birds.
Daring, vibrant, and fierce--
I have tried to write a poem in eulogy. Fierce rhymes with pierce, daring rhymes with caring, vibrant rhymes with celebrant--
Sort of--
I don't have a poem for this. Peregrine's song is in the song of the birds -- the forlorn cry of the gull, the sweet trill of the mockingbird, the harsh caw of the crow, yes, but especially the falcon. Huntress, mighty and fierce and quick, with blood in its talons when it strikes clean and sure. Hunting bird, you faced prey too large for you, but you were the greatest of great hearts.
I will always treasure the confidence you offered me. I will wish for the open breadth of your perspective much in days to come, I think. But I hope the gods reunite you with your lost family, my friend.
Heron to falcon ... I will do my utmost to take down what slew you. We are, after all, both hunting birds.
Written By Tikva
May 21, 2017, 12:13 p.m.(7/3/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ainsley
Ainsley Grayson appears to have forgotten that the white journals are meant to be a chronicle, a historical record!
This is probably because he is TERRIBLE.
But since this is meant to be a chronicle, I should probably be accurate.
Mostly, what is terrible about Ainsley is that I like him so much.
Hi.
This is probably because he is TERRIBLE.
But since this is meant to be a chronicle, I should probably be accurate.
Mostly, what is terrible about Ainsley is that I like him so much.
Hi.
Written By Tikva
May 21, 2017, 12:05 p.m.(7/3/1006 AR)
A few thoughts:
Nobility is important. Both the weight of blood, the power that inheres in blood and connection, and of course, the power of money. It is a responsibility. I spoke at drunken length about this last night at our table at the auction -- sorry -- that is firing up the Archive today: about the duty of a liege to protect his vassal, about how it is a duty undertaken in love and oath, about the love that drives and defines it.
It is easy to forget, to lose our awareness of that. Perhaps not for me, because my nobility was a gift, and I do not and cannot forget that.
Yet we have another privilege that, until last night, had not occurred to me in the same way that fish must not think about water -- in that we were born Arvani. We were born free.
Thank the gods for that. I do with my whole heart.
Nobility is important. Both the weight of blood, the power that inheres in blood and connection, and of course, the power of money. It is a responsibility. I spoke at drunken length about this last night at our table at the auction -- sorry -- that is firing up the Archive today: about the duty of a liege to protect his vassal, about how it is a duty undertaken in love and oath, about the love that drives and defines it.
It is easy to forget, to lose our awareness of that. Perhaps not for me, because my nobility was a gift, and I do not and cannot forget that.
Yet we have another privilege that, until last night, had not occurred to me in the same way that fish must not think about water -- in that we were born Arvani. We were born free.
Thank the gods for that. I do with my whole heart.
Written By Tikva
May 10, 2017, 11:46 p.m.(6/10/1006 AR)
I am recovering well from the injuries I took in the Battle of Arx, and yet when I sit down to try to compose a song for the end of this all, I find that my pen is fallow, my ink drying in the inkwell.
I am tremendously proud to have served with the archers on the wall at the Seawatch Gate. I can close my eyes and feel the energy of them around me, hear the beat of our boots against the wall, hear the scream of our arrows as we sent volley after volley at the enemy. I can feel the pounding of my heart as we watched them come, silent and inexorable, up the ladders. We cut them down and still they came. We shot them down and still they came. I felt as though I could fight forever. I was struck down, and a lady I don't know saved me; I was cornered, and the Valorous Few came to my aid, their leader grinning and cackling like a madman, and that gave me new heart to fight on.
I remembered sitting in the medics' tent with Lady Aislin, getting my blood all over her hands. I remember as we watched our comrades fighting without us, as I coughed blood from my throat, as I wanted _nothing_ in the world but to be out in the thick of it again, riding adrenaline, fighting for my oath, fighting for my people.
In that moment, I didn't think about everything else I have to be fighting for, to be living for. I could think only of how I wasn't out there, shooting them down. And in that moment of selfishness, I almost lost it all, because I came at the enemy again before I was ready, as soon as the healers finished bandaging me, I charged to the fray, and I was too stiff, too slow, and the next thing I knew the great monstrous dark thing was falling atop me and then--
The next thing I remember is a healer talking to me, I don't remember her name, a woman I don't know. I can remember how wasted I felt, like every muscle and bone I had was only pain and all of my blood was spilled already and this walking thing was only a shell of Tikva. Esoka was there, though, and she helped me get to the House of Solace.
It's a little dim. I remember whining a lot.
I remember ... whining a _lot_ ... about a promise I couldn't fulfill.
They've freed me from this sling now, and I played a little concert tonight with the fingers of both hands. It's nice to have my hands back. It's nice to have my body back. It's nice to be Tikva again.
I still have a promise to fulfill ... or two ... or ten ...
But I don't think this is a song. Heroism is worth a song or two or ten, and yet the words don't come. The music doesn't form. These aren't lyrics. This is a history.
I'm alive. Perhaps I shouldn't be. I hope this is a lesson I am never callow enough to forget.
I am tremendously proud to have served with the archers on the wall at the Seawatch Gate. I can close my eyes and feel the energy of them around me, hear the beat of our boots against the wall, hear the scream of our arrows as we sent volley after volley at the enemy. I can feel the pounding of my heart as we watched them come, silent and inexorable, up the ladders. We cut them down and still they came. We shot them down and still they came. I felt as though I could fight forever. I was struck down, and a lady I don't know saved me; I was cornered, and the Valorous Few came to my aid, their leader grinning and cackling like a madman, and that gave me new heart to fight on.
I remembered sitting in the medics' tent with Lady Aislin, getting my blood all over her hands. I remember as we watched our comrades fighting without us, as I coughed blood from my throat, as I wanted _nothing_ in the world but to be out in the thick of it again, riding adrenaline, fighting for my oath, fighting for my people.
In that moment, I didn't think about everything else I have to be fighting for, to be living for. I could think only of how I wasn't out there, shooting them down. And in that moment of selfishness, I almost lost it all, because I came at the enemy again before I was ready, as soon as the healers finished bandaging me, I charged to the fray, and I was too stiff, too slow, and the next thing I knew the great monstrous dark thing was falling atop me and then--
The next thing I remember is a healer talking to me, I don't remember her name, a woman I don't know. I can remember how wasted I felt, like every muscle and bone I had was only pain and all of my blood was spilled already and this walking thing was only a shell of Tikva. Esoka was there, though, and she helped me get to the House of Solace.
It's a little dim. I remember whining a lot.
I remember ... whining a _lot_ ... about a promise I couldn't fulfill.
They've freed me from this sling now, and I played a little concert tonight with the fingers of both hands. It's nice to have my hands back. It's nice to have my body back. It's nice to be Tikva again.
I still have a promise to fulfill ... or two ... or ten ...
But I don't think this is a song. Heroism is worth a song or two or ten, and yet the words don't come. The music doesn't form. These aren't lyrics. This is a history.
I'm alive. Perhaps I shouldn't be. I hope this is a lesson I am never callow enough to forget.
Written By Tikva
May 7, 2017, 12:45 a.m.(6/1/1006 AR)
Okay ...
... ow.
... ow.
Written By Tikva
May 6, 2017, 3:39 p.m.(6/1/1006 AR)
A jeering song for the walls:
Break yourselves upon our gates
Our arrows' heads shall be your fates
We stand tall and strong before your hate
With gods behind us, five and eight.
This is our City, these are our lives
This is our army, see how it strives,
This is our might and we'll crush you betimes
Face our wrath for your Abyssal crimes!
Break yourselves upon our gates
Our arrows' heads shall be your fates
We stand tall and strong before your hate
With gods behind us, five and eight.
This is our City, these are our lives
This is our army, see how it strives,
This is our might and we'll crush you betimes
Face our wrath for your Abyssal crimes!
Written By Tikva
May 6, 2017, 10:37 a.m.(5/28/1006 AR)
My arrows are ready. My bow is ready. My heart is ready. I have prayed to the Pantheon, all, and stand in surety. I will guard this wall. If I fall, my child will be safe in the arms of his kin. I know what it is to be left behind, but my child is strong, and his family loves him. I must choose the risk, and so I do.
One last prayer, Gloria. A soldier's prayer, as the day dawns.
But this prayer is not for me.
Let his sword strike true. I need not pray that his heart never waver, for I know it will not. And it comes time for my friend to die in this fight ... let him go at the pinnacle of glory. Let his death be a death for a thousand songs.
I will write them all.
One last prayer, Gloria. A soldier's prayer, as the day dawns.
But this prayer is not for me.
Let his sword strike true. I need not pray that his heart never waver, for I know it will not. And it comes time for my friend to die in this fight ... let him go at the pinnacle of glory. Let his death be a death for a thousand songs.
I will write them all.
Written By Tikva
May 1, 2017, 11:53 p.m.(5/18/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Esoka
Dame Esoka is ... a good friend to me, and a wiser woman than I in certain particular ways. And ... she's right: it's good, in the midst of chaos and siege and terror, to just sit down for an hour or so and be a woman for a little while.
I'm glad to have stolen those moments.
I'm glad to have stolen those moments.
Written By Tikva
April 30, 2017, 1:03 p.m.(5/15/1006 AR)
I play a lot of songs. I write a lot of verse. Doggerel, you know. Rhyme and sass, my two primary weapons, right after the arrows!
It's easy to be glib. It's easy to be crass. It's easy to spin words and throw them out, you know, pull them out of your ass. The words come, the words dance, I spin them like tops. It's easy to flirt! Why not? It's fun, a game we play, a stolen fragment of brightness in a world cloaked in darkness, rife with violence. Fear is around every corner. Play while we can, live while we can, sing while we can!
Temptation lives in a moment -- a single moment -- of hush.
Not silence. Silence is nothingness, the drowning threat of the end of the world, and it breaks with a scream.
But a hush. The only sound is breath, the rush of blood in your ears, the thrum of your heartbeat. For a moment it's all you can hear and you're convinced -- certain -- that he can hear it, too.
That instant. Right before you blurt something stupid (usually). That is what I wish I could shape with music. That luring almost. That not quite hope. That weighted moment of promise, right before reality intervenes and shatters all possibilities. In that hush before I speak, I could be about to say anything. Anything at all.
If only I could write that feeling into a song.
It's easy to be glib. It's easy to be crass. It's easy to spin words and throw them out, you know, pull them out of your ass. The words come, the words dance, I spin them like tops. It's easy to flirt! Why not? It's fun, a game we play, a stolen fragment of brightness in a world cloaked in darkness, rife with violence. Fear is around every corner. Play while we can, live while we can, sing while we can!
Temptation lives in a moment -- a single moment -- of hush.
Not silence. Silence is nothingness, the drowning threat of the end of the world, and it breaks with a scream.
But a hush. The only sound is breath, the rush of blood in your ears, the thrum of your heartbeat. For a moment it's all you can hear and you're convinced -- certain -- that he can hear it, too.
That instant. Right before you blurt something stupid (usually). That is what I wish I could shape with music. That luring almost. That not quite hope. That weighted moment of promise, right before reality intervenes and shatters all possibilities. In that hush before I speak, I could be about to say anything. Anything at all.
If only I could write that feeling into a song.
Written By Tikva
April 27, 2017, 4:10 p.m.(5/9/1006 AR)
It seems that there is nowhere in this city we can step without risk of being attacked, be it by the disguised, or even by our own people, too frenzied with fear and paranoia to wait for enemies to strike before they strike back.
My greatest fear is for my son. I have lived my whole life in a state of more or less war with all the raiding parties and the threat of the Shav'Arvani, the enemy tribes upon our borders, in our woods . . . but never before did I fear to walk about the city streets with my child because of what we might come across.
I slew the seeming of a child that was a Bringer, who threatened the catacombs by trickery. My heart has been uneasy since then.
It is not that it is a bad lesson to learn, to question the evidence of my own eyes and ears. But it is a hard one.
My greatest fear is for my son. I have lived my whole life in a state of more or less war with all the raiding parties and the threat of the Shav'Arvani, the enemy tribes upon our borders, in our woods . . . but never before did I fear to walk about the city streets with my child because of what we might come across.
I slew the seeming of a child that was a Bringer, who threatened the catacombs by trickery. My heart has been uneasy since then.
It is not that it is a bad lesson to learn, to question the evidence of my own eyes and ears. But it is a hard one.
Written By Tikva
April 19, 2017, 10:57 p.m.(4/20/1006 AR)
Love is the measure of two hearts together
Duty is the binding together of their tether
Once it was a wall and now it bends
Between a loving pair of truest friends
This song could have been spun a tragedy
Instead it’s the true beginning of a family.
Wound up with history, time twining through
It could have been sadness, division for two;
Yet finally it came, the truest reward,
That wife and husband share a grip on this sword
Limerance calls you, together hereby—
Old vows now behind you, a new one will bind.
Standing by stalwart in armor, he’s never forsook
While her gaze never changed, ahead she’ll always look
Back to back, side by side, partnership and support
These lovers have a rare gift as he joins with her court
Never forget, though, these lovers entwined
This is a triumph we can all get behind:
Some creatures may exist for no purpose at all
The lion, his strength roars out in his bright call
While the sloth, she is home to so many of the small
It fits more than one way, you know, small and tall,
Ride along by your heart, to show love conquers all;
Patience and faith reward loyalty, above all.
This could have been tragic, but instead it’s come sweet
By these hands come in joining, two hearts shall beat;
Rare upon rare when the heart makes accord
with duty divine, liege-sworn, all above-board;
Together you’ll walk each new stride of this ward
and as for me I give welcome to my lady’s new lord.
Duty is the binding together of their tether
Once it was a wall and now it bends
Between a loving pair of truest friends
This song could have been spun a tragedy
Instead it’s the true beginning of a family.
Wound up with history, time twining through
It could have been sadness, division for two;
Yet finally it came, the truest reward,
That wife and husband share a grip on this sword
Limerance calls you, together hereby—
Old vows now behind you, a new one will bind.
Standing by stalwart in armor, he’s never forsook
While her gaze never changed, ahead she’ll always look
Back to back, side by side, partnership and support
These lovers have a rare gift as he joins with her court
Never forget, though, these lovers entwined
This is a triumph we can all get behind:
Some creatures may exist for no purpose at all
The lion, his strength roars out in his bright call
While the sloth, she is home to so many of the small
It fits more than one way, you know, small and tall,
Ride along by your heart, to show love conquers all;
Patience and faith reward loyalty, above all.
This could have been tragic, but instead it’s come sweet
By these hands come in joining, two hearts shall beat;
Rare upon rare when the heart makes accord
with duty divine, liege-sworn, all above-board;
Together you’ll walk each new stride of this ward
and as for me I give welcome to my lady’s new lord.
Written By Tikva
April 16, 2017, 9:59 p.m.(4/14/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Luca
How about ... the Winged Fox, since he becomes a Griffon, but he'll always be a fox?
The Winged Fox and the Pink Griffon, of course!
The Winged Fox and the Pink Griffon, of course!
Written By Tikva
April 13, 2017, 12:07 a.m.(4/7/1006 AR)
House Riven stands for the proposition of what can happen when Shav'Arvani are treated as humans instead of as cattle for the slaughter. Prodigals work our fields, tend our orchards, sail our rivers, manage our trade, fight our battles and defend our borders. Because they took oath. Because they are people.
I married Lord Kelleth of the Greenwood, and loved him, and bore him a son. He was born outside the Compact. Yet he was treated with, as a man, with reason, and understanding, and a soul, and he bent the knee, and in the end, he fell, defending the Compact from its enemies.
House Deepwood has reached out to the Gray Forest tribes and brokered peace. Thirty thousand men and women bent the knee to Marquesa Samantha.
House Deepwood crucified no one.
House Grayson has reached out to the Gray Forest tribes and brokered peace. Princess Peregrine joined that house with a marriage alliance, and thousands of men and women, swords and arrows, to join the fight against the forces of the Abyss.
House Grayson did not use the sick and dying as weapons against their loved ones.
I will not hear a word in defense of the senseless murder of tens of thousands of _civilians_. I accept the wisdom of the Faith that horrific brutality is against the tenets of Gloria.
I will not hear a word of complaint from those who refuse to condemn those actions. I am appalled that there are _any_ that refuse to condemn those actions.
House Riven hereby invokes the right of rescission in our trade compacts with all Houses who refuse to condemn Abbas Thrax. This white journal shall fulfill the public notice provision in each contract so written.
If you cannot understand that those who have not yet bent the knee are human beings, if enemies then _honorable enemies_, then you will not have the benefits of the labor of those who have bent the knee.
I married Lord Kelleth of the Greenwood, and loved him, and bore him a son. He was born outside the Compact. Yet he was treated with, as a man, with reason, and understanding, and a soul, and he bent the knee, and in the end, he fell, defending the Compact from its enemies.
House Deepwood has reached out to the Gray Forest tribes and brokered peace. Thirty thousand men and women bent the knee to Marquesa Samantha.
House Deepwood crucified no one.
House Grayson has reached out to the Gray Forest tribes and brokered peace. Princess Peregrine joined that house with a marriage alliance, and thousands of men and women, swords and arrows, to join the fight against the forces of the Abyss.
House Grayson did not use the sick and dying as weapons against their loved ones.
I will not hear a word in defense of the senseless murder of tens of thousands of _civilians_. I accept the wisdom of the Faith that horrific brutality is against the tenets of Gloria.
I will not hear a word of complaint from those who refuse to condemn those actions. I am appalled that there are _any_ that refuse to condemn those actions.
House Riven hereby invokes the right of rescission in our trade compacts with all Houses who refuse to condemn Abbas Thrax. This white journal shall fulfill the public notice provision in each contract so written.
If you cannot understand that those who have not yet bent the knee are human beings, if enemies then _honorable enemies_, then you will not have the benefits of the labor of those who have bent the knee.
Written By Tikva
April 9, 2017, 9:34 p.m.(3/28/1006 AR)
This is a song for Serafine Velenosa and Leta Broadbent, to whom I promised a song wherein I could be romantic with farts. It works best live when you can hear the sweetness in the melody; I'll have to perform it for you both sometime. So that Leta can throw tomatoes at me, most likely.
Our life together’s like a love song
When your warm hand touches mine
It seems like nothing could go wrong;
Your kiss goes to my head like wine.
Your eyes on mine, they shine like stars
and you hold my heart in your hand;
I’m caught in your arms, caged behind bars;
but my capture feels ever so grand.
Yet the sweetest thing about our love
More romantic than stardust on our hearts
or glowing moonlight on the wings of a dove--
I’m safe enough with you to release my farts!
Laugh with me, lover; hold me so close;
I’ll buy you some sweets, or maybe a book—
And when you think it’s safe, I’ll lick your nose!
A girl like you can melt me with a look,
But here’s the thing, with two lives intertwined,
It’s not just songs and chocolates here,
Hold my hand, my love, and bear in mind
It’s you and I; let all the rest disappear.
Our life together’s like a love song
When your warm hand touches mine
It seems like nothing could go wrong;
Your kiss goes to my head like wine.
Your eyes on mine, they shine like stars
and you hold my heart in your hand;
I’m caught in your arms, caged behind bars;
but my capture feels ever so grand.
Yet the sweetest thing about our love
More romantic than stardust on our hearts
or glowing moonlight on the wings of a dove--
I’m safe enough with you to release my farts!
Laugh with me, lover; hold me so close;
I’ll buy you some sweets, or maybe a book—
And when you think it’s safe, I’ll lick your nose!
A girl like you can melt me with a look,
But here’s the thing, with two lives intertwined,
It’s not just songs and chocolates here,
Hold my hand, my love, and bear in mind
It’s you and I; let all the rest disappear.
Written By Tikva
April 9, 2017, 11:56 a.m.(3/28/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Reese
A reprise? A sequel?? A canto! I hope to sing the whole damn thing at the wedding!
Princess Ribbons rode to war
boldest, with esprit de corps
conquering hearts left and right
as she raised her shining blade to fight!
But the lady took no prisoners
With no more than a glance in particular;
She was matchless, unattached
While those Bringers she dispatched
None could claim her, nor dared try
’Twas the fire in those bright blue eyes
While she blew ‘em apart, cut ‘em in half
Smashed ‘em flat and crushed the chaff—
But a stalwart warrior like our heroine
Need not stand alone, nor no fellow win;
You see, all a girl like that’s gotta do is ask
And her boy’s gonna to do any wooer’s task
So who would Princess Ribbons claim
but the rascalliest blade you could name,
that brightest spark of the Champions’ Guild
whose name many a singer’s tongue has thrilled?
The slipperiest Prince of the Mirrorguard
Prob’ly oiled up for her bright regard
the finest Lycene swordsmanship might
be a sweet dower for her bridely delight.
Their swords will dazzle, pink and black
While they’re slaying foes back to back
Princess Ribbons rode to war, my dear,
and snatched herself a pretty cavalier.
Princess Ribbons rode to war
boldest, with esprit de corps
conquering hearts left and right
as she raised her shining blade to fight!
But the lady took no prisoners
With no more than a glance in particular;
She was matchless, unattached
While those Bringers she dispatched
None could claim her, nor dared try
’Twas the fire in those bright blue eyes
While she blew ‘em apart, cut ‘em in half
Smashed ‘em flat and crushed the chaff—
But a stalwart warrior like our heroine
Need not stand alone, nor no fellow win;
You see, all a girl like that’s gotta do is ask
And her boy’s gonna to do any wooer’s task
So who would Princess Ribbons claim
but the rascalliest blade you could name,
that brightest spark of the Champions’ Guild
whose name many a singer’s tongue has thrilled?
The slipperiest Prince of the Mirrorguard
Prob’ly oiled up for her bright regard
the finest Lycene swordsmanship might
be a sweet dower for her bridely delight.
Their swords will dazzle, pink and black
While they’re slaying foes back to back
Princess Ribbons rode to war, my dear,
and snatched herself a pretty cavalier.
Written By Tikva
April 2, 2017, 4:50 p.m.(3/14/1006 AR)
Today, Lord Tiber Riven is 2 years old.
Written By Tikva
April 1, 2017, 12:43 a.m.(3/11/1006 AR)
Even the sturdiest, coldest mountain yields to the melting warmth of fresh sunlight, with the first new growth of springtime. When you see the first new green leaves pierce the snow, you have to smile, don't you?
When that first bright daisy opens on a new day, it means more than simple flower petals.
Fuck the Bringers. I have a song to write.
When that first bright daisy opens on a new day, it means more than simple flower petals.
Fuck the Bringers. I have a song to write.
Written By Tikva
March 29, 2017, 11:59 p.m.(3/7/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ainsley
As a sequel song to "Princess Ribbons," I bring you this:
Ainsley the Terrible
A man who’s incomparable
Whose jokes are maybe bearable
Except for some undeclarable
His sword arm undeterrable
His aim, so true, and shareable
I’m sure he’s quite preparable
for his life is quite the parable
to what may be repairable—
with all that stands against us
he’ll stand tall and unpretentious
for here’s a man to defend us
with courage here to lend us
It’s Ainsley the Terrible
His bravery unimpairable
His humor not so cerebral
These rhymes are quite chimerical
(This song’s a bit deplorable—)
The boy’s kind of adorable—
But my point is: absolutely terrible!
Ainsley the Terrible
A man who’s incomparable
Whose jokes are maybe bearable
Except for some undeclarable
His sword arm undeterrable
His aim, so true, and shareable
I’m sure he’s quite preparable
for his life is quite the parable
to what may be repairable—
with all that stands against us
he’ll stand tall and unpretentious
for here’s a man to defend us
with courage here to lend us
It’s Ainsley the Terrible
His bravery unimpairable
His humor not so cerebral
These rhymes are quite chimerical
(This song’s a bit deplorable—)
The boy’s kind of adorable—
But my point is: absolutely terrible!
Written By Tikva
March 27, 2017, 12:37 a.m.(3/1/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Reese
_A reprise_:
Princess Ribbons rode to war
'Gainst Bringers by the score
And they fall before her blade
Pink as strawb'ry lemonade!
The power shone in her stroke
Gleaming roseate, full of hope
and the Bringer that she struck
Blew apart, well holy fuck--
Princess Ribbons rode to war
'Gainst Bringers by the score
And they fall before her blade
Pink as strawb'ry lemonade!
The power shone in her stroke
Gleaming roseate, full of hope
and the Bringer that she struck
Blew apart, well holy fuck--
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.