Post by Wik on Oct 26, 2023 1:00:10 GMT
An invitation, inked with Winter's sheen,
reason enough to accept sight un-seen,
and enough to wonder what it might mean,
"the Reunion of The Lord and his Queen."
And with, from the Queen of Cunning and Ken,
a note requesting that we too attend
and be her escort, to be ready when
wits will be needed to get home again.
Presenting Heret in purple and red,
and looking as fine as the note had said.
With this outfit, there could be none misled,
that this was one who walked in Twilight's stead.
And Glade, adorned with flower mask and gown,
(really, only missing a flowered crown)
clearly ready for a night on the town,
arrives set in time for what might go down.
But so too Ninnoc Floch does bring her all,
draped in rose gold fit for the finest ball.
In her clutch, ready for what might befall,
lie her spells, each waiting at beck and call.
Beets arrives with serious expression,
in contrast to all of those in session.
But, of one thing, there can be no question,
if it goes south, we'll praise her aggression.
Now Longwalker, of the others the last,
though now out of depth, soon shall it be past.
A formal suit, a deep blue cloak held fast,
rest atop shoulders that wish this were passed.
And finally, Cechec, as he will tell,
though there seems to be another as well.
But on this, we would do best not to dwell,
lest he dive deeper still under his shell.
And so the six arrive, in formal best,
(only their finest at the note's behest),
and see a message hidden from the rest,
that in the Twilight Court they start their quest.
For the eternal sunset of Twilight,
the Equinox between the day and night,
is, of course, the best place to hear one's plight,
and maybe, to learn how to set wrongs right.
But it is not the Queen we must impress,
but Kithrin, Twilight Incarnate no less.
But they can find no err with our dress,
and so we go, thankfully with their bless.
And so blessed we go, to the Court of Snow,
the land of ice and peak and light aglow,
and it is not too long before we know:
the flakes that find us are not just for show.
No, it seems that one has found each of us,
and too each guest that we can so far suss,
the watchful eye of the Queen, we discuss,
is never too far from those moving thus.
But here we are just a part of the crowd,
another party in a room so loud,
but even we still find room to stand proud,
amongst lord and ladies, we'll not be shroud.
Though the lady that catches Cechec's eye,
is enough to make sure that he stops by
to greet the Third Cantor, though he is shy
(the resemblance, one he cannot deny)
He's correct: Daisy's sister, Cantor Three.
Home but conflicted, as though she must flee.
To where, she knows not, but they do agree,
to meet on the dance floor when both are free.
The first dance is taken, by Queen and Lord,
and all eyes are on them from the first chord,
The Lord on his Hunt, the crowd all ignored.
All they see is their Queen, deeply adored.
The last step is taken, and then one more,
a kiss to send the strongest to the floor,
then a bow, and a warning from the core:
this love is real, it will last forevermore.
An interruption, a tap on the arm:
Kruxeral, who speaks with a small alarm,
must whisk us away, to stop a great harm,
and walks to a wall of ice with his arm.
Then illusion is broken, and beyond
is one that none present are much too fond,
Drusilia, from who all this did spawn,
does ask a favour, and hopes we respond.
Cechec is unsure, Glade is too wary,
Beets though speaks to us on the contrary:
The Lord is enthralled, his heart a slurry,
we can't ignore, no matter how hairy.
And so we agree, although we begrudge,
and the red hag send us off with a nudge,
to find the rings, and allow her to judge,
to see their love true, or if it can budge.
Job taken, we flit from door to alcove,
until in one we do find our trove,
for within two rings, meant for two hearts wove
the greatest of vows, each into love dove
And so it is by blackbird's beady gaze
Drusilia finds, to our amaze
that ice lives already in his heart rays,
the ring empowers it, fills thought with haze.
We make our escape, past icy hound,
and return before the Lord has been crowned,
to report to her all that we had found,
when from behind ice, we can hear a sound.
The sound of new vows made, and old vows kept,
the Lord knelt low, the Queen keeping all rapt,
"You would be my Chosen. Do you accept?"
The answer held, though, when at the door "clapt"
Kruxeral introducing, Queen Faerie.
"You thought I would miss the festivity?"
"Titania! Why are you here?" "Family,
dear brother." And soon spear he does carry.
The spear flew far, and in its arc flew true,
and through the Summer Queen it pierces into,
"So now Brother, after all we've been through,
for a Court to stand for, Winter you do?".
And in a shower of flame, she is gone.
The six of us too, in case we are drawn,
into the conflict that's here in the dawn.
Better where dawn's light is never upon.
After a drink, then back to Daring Heights,
to think on what might come in future nights:
the Hunt in ice, the Lord in Winter's lights,
Summer and Winter in each other's sights.
Maybe there was once a way out for him,
but it seems now things are looking quite grim.
He crawled on his belly til light grew dim,
and he wears a broken crown at her whim.
