Here lays a story to be told of Angels and Mermaids and Knights (with strange names) and royalty of princesses and princes the same, and none of which were servant’s saviors but all of them killed her further.

The Knights which left the servant to fight battles alone, at the age of ten and with no one to know

Starting years of battles she could never fight and learning how to do this right,

And meeting a Mermaid some small years past made everything clear even when Angels fought with piercing spears

That left her raw with a heart bleeding red with hints of black hiding within,

But mermaids are good at making things clear until the waters gets murky and they sometimes disappear

Though they come back sometimes with perfect words to say not speaking but singing the troubles away.

Then there’s royalty like the servants friend and love, the princess, as she was in her mother’s unclean eyes unaware of

The potions princess took and the droughts that made ill the princess who was her mother’s princess still,

And when you stay with a princess so long you’re convinced that you are just as lowly  as old servants who won’t get very far,

For compared to a princess others saw the young servant a joke, like sisters they mocked a pauper and the Pope,

One of saintly means as they thought she would be

Until they discovered her broken addiction to potions and affliction.

They sent the princess away to a tower so far and the young servant who at sixteen took to traveling sorts

And when under the guise of a beloved friend the servant took on an adventure that,

Despite her best wishes prior and hence the servant was made into a woman in which, the kinds she didn’t want to become.

When a potion was spilt into the young servants wine she became a sleeping beauty to a man not so kind

Who left her with questions and a new form of fear, a fear of hands which no mermaids nor could royalty clear,

And she never told souls of her sorrowful state with people leaving her and all that she had gave,

She gave that man her all unwillingly known and couldn’t, no wouldn’t tell a dare soul,

Until she spilled a bottle of ink onto paper so clean and here she gives it to a wondrous soul to be seen.

Though she couldn’t do much, this much she could she wrote words and words with all who would read, thus is the scene of a lowly servant willowing.

Though her life was not much she gave what she had, and when what was left was her strife she with blade in hand, forgets the things that no potion gives solace.

She mutes all the words of black ink with red and leaves it for others to try to understand, she lives on, yes but it could hardly be living when dying is on mind and

Her mind is darkening, there will not be more words on this poor servant’s state, she wishes to now cleanse the slate.