In the hand…
Of a woman…
Rests a weapon.
The hilt of a sword.
For a lady so forged.
And a lady can swing.
She can block or parry.
She can slash and stab.
She is proven so deadly.
Or at least…a lady thinks.
You are NOTHING, MAZE!
Go! Go away! GO AWAY!
Her own voice is in pain.
Agony in a spoken name.
In a mirror, sees her face.
Reflects on edge of blade.
“You are a silly girl, Mazeryl…”
She whispers within darkness.
Her gaze penetrates a distance.
Between eyes and sword in a fist.
I'm sorry, Ryssa Kalayli.
Maze is remembering.
As a steel blade sheens.
She sees eyes glimmering.
Golden irises were Ryssa’s.
I failed you. It is all…undone.
The hedges that flank her dare not disagree with their Protector.
Tall bushes, a brilliant red, hedges connected in a maze of earth.
A bush as red as her blood, the rossatine, budding from nature.
In a maze, a woman walks, lost, helpless, if in her house colors.
A black leather jacket, collar tall and sharp, covering her red skirts.
Blazoned at jacket’s back, black red emblem, with orange embers.
Like fire, tendrils of curling flame, but in truth it is that golden mane.
On a red circle, flanked by blades shaped in an A, no dragon, a lion.
With a sigh, she sheathes her sword.
Steel sings back within its scabbard.
Above that world is that black canvas.
Bright stars but Maze's place is Karazak.
One's own soul, a Karazakan's blade.
A breeze tickles black hair that drapes.
Black seas for irises are dark as death.
“A fool calling herself Breaker of Chains.”
But what chains has Mazeryl Xiron broken?
No, she did not free, she enslaved victims.
Lady Protector, they call her, her citizens.
Yet she failed to protect just one woman.
On broken boat, the sea is not the enemy.
Oh drowning woe, you are your worst foe.
For upon yourself you cannot place faith.
A ship sinks when her captain hesitates.
What was a ruler who ruled through stupidity?
Back then and there upon her own city streets.
Karazak’s first visitor in years at a Lady’s back.
So the Lady Protector could go have her attack.
Just a stupid foolish girl who thinks herself a warrior.
To defend her home, she charged her challengers.
On instinct, without thinking, stormed that lady.
Enemies, the Karazakan knew, they had to bleed.
Who bled? Who burned? She claimed a head. Hur’s.
Hur of House Terel, a warrior, who dared oppose her.
His Lady Protector. He died for it. Who truly suffered?
Vadrian… Kalayli… And all my soldiers… My…my warriors.
They were dead too. They died for her. Died for Maze.
For my mistakes. Her heart quakes right there in a maze.
A maze beneath the stars, underneath that galactic arc.
She glides her feet, walking gracefully, holding her arms.
There is not much dignity in this woman’s walk, so lonely.
Not a proud stance, hands not clasped behind her back.
Hand not on sword hilt at hip like the day it had been.
When one Ryssa was strolling before her kidnapping.
Two women walking along, oblivious to whispers in the wind.
Even amid her Shades, Maze had been betrayed by a woman.
Just one, a lone little lady, who made Maze into a blind idiot.
It isn’t Ryssa, it wasn’t her, it was Maze herself who's foolish.
“They call me a young girl, Father.”
Mazeryl Xiron speaks into thin air.
It would seem, but he hears her.
“That I know so little of warfare.”
Talking to herself, the woman shrugs.
To her father as well, a daughter does.
Day and night, Johteuge Xiron lives on.
In heart, head. “I’m a ticking time bomb.”
She takes a left at the corner bordered by scarlet bush.
A labyrinth of thickets is paved in paths and at junctions.
A wall of shrubbery as red as the blood in her house sigil.
A lady walks, a lady in a maze, outside her palace of vigil.
Of a woman…
Rests a weapon.
The hilt of a sword.
For a lady so forged.
And a lady can swing.
She can block or parry.
She can slash and stab.
She is proven so deadly.
Or at least…a lady thinks.
You are NOTHING, MAZE!
Go! Go away! GO AWAY!
Her own voice is in pain.
Agony in a spoken name.
In a mirror, sees her face.
Reflects on edge of blade.
“You are a silly girl, Mazeryl…”
She whispers within darkness.
Her gaze penetrates a distance.
Between eyes and sword in a fist.
I'm sorry, Ryssa Kalayli.
Maze is remembering.
As a steel blade sheens.
She sees eyes glimmering.
Golden irises were Ryssa’s.
I failed you. It is all…undone.
The hedges that flank her dare not disagree with their Protector.
Tall bushes, a brilliant red, hedges connected in a maze of earth.
A bush as red as her blood, the rossatine, budding from nature.
In a maze, a woman walks, lost, helpless, if in her house colors.
A black leather jacket, collar tall and sharp, covering her red skirts.
Blazoned at jacket’s back, black red emblem, with orange embers.
Like fire, tendrils of curling flame, but in truth it is that golden mane.
On a red circle, flanked by blades shaped in an A, no dragon, a lion.
With a sigh, she sheathes her sword.
Steel sings back within its scabbard.
Above that world is that black canvas.
Bright stars but Maze's place is Karazak.
One's own soul, a Karazakan's blade.
A breeze tickles black hair that drapes.
Black seas for irises are dark as death.
“A fool calling herself Breaker of Chains.”
But what chains has Mazeryl Xiron broken?
No, she did not free, she enslaved victims.
Lady Protector, they call her, her citizens.
Yet she failed to protect just one woman.
On broken boat, the sea is not the enemy.
Oh drowning woe, you are your worst foe.
For upon yourself you cannot place faith.
A ship sinks when her captain hesitates.
What was a ruler who ruled through stupidity?
Back then and there upon her own city streets.
Karazak’s first visitor in years at a Lady’s back.
So the Lady Protector could go have her attack.
Just a stupid foolish girl who thinks herself a warrior.
To defend her home, she charged her challengers.
On instinct, without thinking, stormed that lady.
Enemies, the Karazakan knew, they had to bleed.
Who bled? Who burned? She claimed a head. Hur’s.
Hur of House Terel, a warrior, who dared oppose her.
His Lady Protector. He died for it. Who truly suffered?
Vadrian… Kalayli… And all my soldiers… My…my warriors.
They were dead too. They died for her. Died for Maze.
For my mistakes. Her heart quakes right there in a maze.
A maze beneath the stars, underneath that galactic arc.
She glides her feet, walking gracefully, holding her arms.
There is not much dignity in this woman’s walk, so lonely.
Not a proud stance, hands not clasped behind her back.
Hand not on sword hilt at hip like the day it had been.
When one Ryssa was strolling before her kidnapping.
Two women walking along, oblivious to whispers in the wind.
Even amid her Shades, Maze had been betrayed by a woman.
Just one, a lone little lady, who made Maze into a blind idiot.
It isn’t Ryssa, it wasn’t her, it was Maze herself who's foolish.
“They call me a young girl, Father.”
Mazeryl Xiron speaks into thin air.
It would seem, but he hears her.
“That I know so little of warfare.”
Talking to herself, the woman shrugs.
To her father as well, a daughter does.
Day and night, Johteuge Xiron lives on.
In heart, head. “I’m a ticking time bomb.”
She takes a left at the corner bordered by scarlet bush.
A labyrinth of thickets is paved in paths and at junctions.
A wall of shrubbery as red as the blood in her house sigil.
A lady walks, a lady in a maze, outside her palace of vigil.
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