She is a rose, planted in the garden, oh beloved.
She smelled of mint and cinnamon, so pleasant that when it wafted in the air, it called forth men, oh beloved.
Her bed was without thorns, but of lilies and daisies. She attracts, but yet, no one came close—though they wished they did, oh beloved.
She had no cage, but her voice, like a siren, would enchant you. It is a beautiful song that she sings—it heals the heart, cures the sick, and brings forth goodness.
One must not anger her. Oh, one must not let her heart be shattered, or thorns will crawl among the roses, oh beloved.
A man unbeatable, a warrior untouchable, became enchanted by her voice—became trapped in her bed of cinnamon and honey. And oh dear, oh dear, he did not let go, does not want to let go, despite the warnings, oh beloved.
It was beautiful. A love like this has never been heard of—a love that can make one wonder what is the greatest gift of all mankind. A love so pure it brought good tidings, oh beloved.
But inasmuch as love is an emblem of peace and warmth, it is also an emblem of hate and destruction. When love grows so deep and shatters, it could cause a waging storm, oh beloved.
In her garden, she embraced him and hugged him, but he was only of a shallow mind. The son of a warrior would only listen to the cry of the people, the bell announcing a battle. So his obligation was of a bigger task, and not love, oh beloved.
So he would leave her to face his obligations. But he promised that night when they lay side by side watching the moon—he promised that he shall return to her. And then he kissed her slowly, taking his time to ravish all that they had shared. 'My love is not lost,' so he said, oh beloved.
But after the war, he came with a bride—a slap to her face. He claimed it was the king, and he had no say, but he would take her as his second, oh beloved.
Of course, she agreed. She loved him too much to care about the consequences, and she did not want to cry—lest it ruined her garden. And he loved her too much to let go.
But his bride was of a jealous heart, and so she brought forth harm—and this harm caused chaos in the kingdom, oh beloved.
And so they sought for her—to kill her when he had gone for war.
In her distress, she called to him—her song piercing through the air, wishing it could be carried to him, oh beloved.
Nature failed her not, for they carried her message to him. But when he returned, she was gone. Her garden withered, and thorns grew about,
"Dear beloved," he cried. But no countless tears could bring her back.
In his pain, he became the storm—calling forth rain to water her garden. But she was gone, and this pain only embedded in his soul, making him the beast he is known.