Do we falter before the altar?
"This isn't real, Kenzi, this isn't real," she whispered to herself. She kept her eyes squeezed tight because she knew this was just an illusion; it looked so real.
Upon which we lay our eyes?
She had no idea how long she'd been trapped in the under-Fae's spell- or whatever they called it- but she was seriously starting to have issues. It was getting harder and harder to remind herself, "This isn't real, Kenzi, this isn't real."
For which we give our lives?
"This is real, Kenzi, this is real," the voice rasped from beyond her huddled form. What was once so rich and deep was now broken, hoarse, and ruined. A shudder ripped down her spine.
Do we stand still before the storm?
When they warned her that this foe could ensnare her in illusions showing her things she feared most, she'd been sure she knew what she would see. But she was wrong-oh so wrong. This was worse- and she'd never have guessed. "This is real, Kenzi, this is real," he told her.
Upon those distant shores?
"No Dyson," her voice trembled with tears, "no." Even as her body betrayed her- eyes opening to see oh, God- she held desperately to her conviction. Because this couldn't be real, not ever.
For the war, that was never ours?
The stone altar, once pristine white, now stained red. His mangled form draped across it, a barely living sacrifice. His blue eyes met hers and the tears flowed fast once more. His chest rose and she could hear the wet rattle despite the distance. "No Dyson," she sobbed, "no."
'Tis for this that we weep.
Then finally-finally- the nightmare dissolved. Her eyes met blue, and thank God, there was no blood. Then she rushed, flung her arms around him and hid her face in his neck to muffle her sobs. A great wrenching sound tore through her tiny frame. Responding he wrapped his arms around her and murmured, "I have you, Kenzi, I have you."
Yet, would you weep for me?