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From Our HeartSuch are loyalties.
Yet, I chose this,
Of my own free will,
I love you,
With the passion of a thousand suns
Blazing in my every limb.
I cannot gaze upon another soul
In the way I do upon you.
No matter how my eyes
And hands may stray,
I am yours.
I am you.
You are me.
Your soul and mine,
Intertwined in an eternal embrace,
Dancing on and on and on
Until we dissolve into the oblivion surrounding
The King and His HarpistThe king called to his page, "I am tired. Send for my guest." The page nodded and walked quickly out of the king's magnificent bedroom.
His majesty reclined on his soft, luxurious bed, waiting anxiously. He fought the bubbling anticipation in the pit of his stomach. The corners of his mouth twitched incessantly. He readjusted the robes draped around his shoulders so that it didn't hug his body so tightly. A thought floated in the back of his mind, chastising him for getting so nervous over--
He heard a soft knock at his door.
His head snapped up. He slowly rose from where he was reclining, cleared his throat, and readjusted his robes for a final time. He announced evenly, "Enter."
A tall youth, no more than 3 years younger than the king, stepped quietly into the room. His chestnut brown hair reflected the warm orange light of the doorway torches. His deep, black eyes glittered with a gentle, subdued excitement. He carried a medium, mahogany harp lovingly in his olive-skinned arms.
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