Lord Cynic: "Just a simple poem to get the writing blood flowing through my veins. I won't dare say anything else, so let's get this thing rolling."
Lord Cynic: "I don't own Golden Sun. Too much paperwork."
Golden Sun
The Angel and the Slayer
He is a ruthless killer,
Destroying everything in his way.
He gives no thought to his victims,
As long as he receives his ill-gotten pay.
She is a godsend from above,
With a pure heart and beautiful face.
She blesses everything she sees,
With style, beauty and grace.
His eyes are cold and truculent,
His sneer is thin but brief.
His clothes are ragged and torn,
Thus his reputation as a thief.
Her eyes are calm and tranquil,
Her smile is warm and consoling.
She exudes a bright and radiant aura,
Her healing powers are deemed as holy.
He grew up without love and comfort,
Stunted emotionally through his years.
Now life, death or love,
He neither cares about nor fears.
She is kind without comprehension,
A soul without vengeance or spite.
But she hates the concept of violence,
And always hides from a fight.
One fateful, snowy day,
Where the ground was littered with sleet,
Through the rough and stormy weather,
Their contrasting spirits meet.
He is soothed by her benevolence,
And the wall around his heart is broken.
She is strengthened by his resolve,
And she is cured from being soft-spoken.
Their encounter changed them both:
One no longer alone, the other no longer a failure.
Fate would surely bring together,
Mia the Angel and Felix the Slayer.
The End
Lord Cynic: "Didn't expect that, did you?"