Fragipane, Fragipane
There's nothing like being a blond, more like being a blond in love.
I walk through your garden looking for you, completely dazed by what you've wrought; weeping willows, cherubim trees, Cyprus moons, leaning out to entangle me.
I'll find you, I must.
Hack, hack through the vines that ensnare you, hiding you away from me. I will find you; you will be mine. Crushing the beasts that have killed the others, the ones who would save you.
But they don't have a woman's touch.
My muscles bulge as I rip away the old wood; my flesh torn red and bleeding. But they can not have you; I will not let them.
The stairs are the only thing that does not rot. I push away the sleeping fools who have let you sit for so long, the gardens untamed and filled with such wild creatures, the waters stagnant.
Down, down to your room. And there you are, my dear; silent and pale, your gown rotted away.
With this kiss, I free thee for once and for always.
At the press of my lips, your eyes flutter open. Then widen, amazed. Your arms enfold me, unspoilt still in all these worlds.
"Molly!"
I cradle you to me, "You're safe now, darling." I say.
For now and forever.