Disclaimer - I do not own Gormenghast or any of it's characters

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Fuchsia Speaks

It seems so long ago now,

That I, opening the door,

Found you in my attic,

Unconscious on the floor.

You said you were a rebel,

An adventurer-to-be.

That is why I helped you;

I thought you were like me.

I remember you at the window,

Face framed by flickering fire.

You smashed the glass and rescued us

From what would have been our pyre.

My father's mind went with his books,

Burned amongst the flame.

And I still didn't realise

It was just a plot for fame.

Your background didn't matter,

No one seemed to care.

You were the only one who spoke to me,

Who saw that I was there.

I realised at the graveyard

How alike we were,

When I saw the blood upon your cheeks –

Marks that I'd put there.

I sought your company through a choice

That welled from black despair,

But in my heart arose a thing

I had not looked for there.

Every night I met with you

At rooms that you arranged.

Then, for a candle, you called me 'fool'

And everything was changed.

Now I've learned the truth,

I don't know what to do.

So many deaths, so many lives

Lost because of you.

There's a crimson rose upon my desk

Its petals wilting on my book.

One half covers the face of a prince,

Simulating your look.

You know what it is to be lonely,

You told me once before.

Hurled the words at my retreating back

As I fled through the door.

When you asked that I help to hide you,

I don't know what I felt.

I was torn between love and hate;

The two cards fate had dealt.

The grief I had thought banished

Flooded in anew.

But this time, not for the dead;

But just for me and you.

As I called for the guards

You cried you'd make me queen,

And as you jumped out through the window,

You took with you my dream.

You tore out half my heart,

And some things never mend.

Now they know where you're hiding,

And I don't want to see the end.

Because I'm someone else now,

Someone brave and strong,

Who doesn't fear pain and death

Or admitting they were wrong.

Someone who would abandon life

And grief they cannot hide,

Rather than keep on clinging on

To what they feel inside.

As that someone else I would

Walk slowly to the window,

And stare in contemplation

At the water far below.

A step upon the ledge I'd take

Towards a jump that would set me free.

But water pools along the wood – I slip!

And oblivion calls to me.