"Quicksilver and Moonbeam"
He may be cold and capricious and cruel,
He may use you and abuse you and dump you.
He may even hurt and kill you, all those things,
But he also has a piece of good suppressed within.
He may look old and weak and frail,
But beneath that golden skin is a fiery spirit,
Unquenchable, indestructible, invincible,
With a personality as charismatic and magnetic.
Billowing white hair, hourglass-shaped eyes,
That can see across time through death and life.
Soft black robes and slender hands,
Empty of emotions, like no common man.
Magic is his claim to fame,
Power and knowledge he seeks to gain.
He could conquer the world today or tomorrow,
But god-hood, immortality is his ultimate goal.
And in my own way, I seek the same,
Visions of the laity honoring and idolizing me.
A powerful cleric in my own right,
The chosen, the Revered Daughter of Paladine.
Blue-black hair and keen grey eyes,
Skin as pale and gleaming as marble.
How youthful, how haughty I was then,
As cold and pristine as crystal.
For love of him did my faith truly falter,
My greatest asset, my one tragic flaw.
Blinded by my own ambition and pride,
Enclosed by darkness, no clear sight.
We are as different as quicksilver and moonbeam,
Our lives together a scorching ardeur.
Drawn to him like a moth to the flame,
Perhaps he loved me, but he loved magic more.