Behold a tale of whimsy and wonder –
Of a lady once pure who was forced down asunder.
Heed of her lessons, though they be hard to swallow;
Harken the tale of the Hag of Hope’s Hollow:
What a glorious spot!
Our young hero thought.
Such lush pretty leaves
To heal my heart’s grieves.
How the river she pours
As the air shines with spores;
Meander and nourish –
Here will I flourish!
With naught but an axe
And these clothes on my back,
Will I build up this haven;
Steel will, won’t be craven –
I will make this my home,
For my sins I’ll attone;
Though they haunt and they harm,
This place surely is charmed.
How little she knew of the horror to come;
That hate and dark magic forbid her be done.
The trials to face of earth and divine –
A spirit made dark from intentions benign.
This bountiful land will provide
Shelter in which I can hide.
Shelter from demons invading,
Pray those in my mind will start fading.
No shadows for them to lurk,
Only limitless work;
Only freedom unconstrained,
Ne’er again be restrained.
With each and every beam that I build,
Not once will I let my dear spirit be killed.
Bloody palms will they strive
To make dreams come alive.
I will stalk through these trees
As I hunt and I seize
And reclaim my power;
No more trampled, this flower.
Many a year spent our solitary soldier –
Diligent, defiant as she slowly grew older;
Her house she erected from timber and blood:
A fortress, a home, her castle in mud.