III. Light

She is my light. Her hair is liquid moonlight, her eyes as blue as the sky just before a storm, her skin pale as the clouds. Her soul shines with a beauty that is beyond compare, as if her spirit were that of some noble, ethereal creature, trapped in the body of a mortal.

And she's strong, like a lioness, like an eagle, something far too fair for even my silver words.

She is the light, and I am content to remain in shadow, as long as her light but falls upon me.