Maternal machinations sent with malice from matrons,
To birth within power that would grow to break nations;
Nurtured, her nature, her natural state bloomed,
Look on in horror, as our warrior is groomed.
My sweetest familiar,
There’s no other similar;
Praise to your wings
And the gifts that they bring.
You’ve bestowed on me magic
When I felt so lost, tragic;
The more blood that you leech,
Brings more power in reach.
‘Yes, my precious, my sweet avatar,
I created that day from a fresh fallen star;
Eons past, when my plan was hatched,
Finally bear fruit; I’ll succeed at last!
Drink from her lifeblood deep
So most of her power I’ll keep;
Slowly we’ll ripen this foolish peach,
Then the world may listen the lessons I teach.’
Oblivious and content, our warrior bears no resent
Towards a strange creature, demanding she spent
Of her flesh, her blood, thought long to have dried;
Grateful was she, for without would have died.
Though I bleed no longer,
Hostage to that great lunar,
That moon and his beatings –
Monthly game of life, cheating.
My dear friend requires,
A mere few drops desired
At the end of each day,
What such small price to pay.
‘Oh how I love
Looking down from above,
As you struggle and strive
With borrowed magic to thrive!
Every time you develop,
Black wings will envelope,
To extract every drop;
Keep learning; don’t stop!’
Watching with glee, Aubryn cannot quite see,
Power cannot be free, rather grown like a tree;
Ripened fruits may be claimed,
But the roots will remain.