There I was throwing off my feast clothes for poor ones. Hanging up the flute, held captive by the moonlight Elfs. They asked for a song, enticing me to forget her, to sing a dirge, to sing my reality. But nay. I must forget me before I ever forget her. This torture, I will endure for her to see again, never will shut this eyes until her light my darkness dispel. For Love, one can go length upon length beyond humanity's edge, soaring off its horizon to attain an immortal rank. "Come my torturer's do to me what you may. I know your princess loved by me is hideous to thee. But love grows in unfavourable gardens, mine never was made fertile, but her, for reasons only God knows, love grew from this desert heart of mine. Blame me not for kissing her lips, she kissed me too, kill me and you will break her heart. If thee want a happy queen, which one day she shall be, then spare me or else a broken heart with no love shall govern thee."
"Before your murder commence our ruin as you say, although her too we plot to kill, replacing her with one who hates your race as much as pride abhors humility, please discourse to us what you may in this last hour of your breath. For we, though viewed Barbarians by your race are lover's of stories in soul."