šThe Butcherās Flameš
He sought a warrior with cleaver forged in night
her blade the only lantern through his gloom;
her spirit sharp as shrapnel in the fight,
a fire that cuts where softer lights consume.
A dance of chase: she flees on cobbled ground,
he follows like a hound to whistleās call;
each strike she deals, a silver whip unbound,
that sparks his thirst for what is true and raw.
He takes his dueātakes blows with lips stretched wide,
blood painting smiles across his villainās face;
for she alone will never bend or hide
from all the darkness in his royal place.
He chases that cold edge as men chase rain
through droughtāits weight the only thing that feels
like life beneath his fingersā fevered chain;
their steps weave tight through blood and rust and steel.
This prince of ash once held loveās name as prizeā
a city built to sack with sword and flame;
he razed her world to catch her haunted eyes,
not seeing what his burning hands had claimed:
Love was no fortress walls to storm and keep,
but the same light he quenched while lying deep...Ā©LanZhan šāØ03202026 å®åØĀ·ę¢
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