Aelfdene and Celeste

If I told you about them, would you believe me?

For there are no two lovers quite as unbelievable,

quite as brave and no story quite as fraught

with dangers, many and unseen as theirs.

The two lovers, Aelfdene and Celeste.

Where to start, where to start? Maybe here,

with Aelfdene’s broken heart. “Poor me.

The icy cold grabs my heart, within the deep

grip of a yuki-onna. My lady, my Mistress

must have been bewitched by Venus.

A Hecate blessed spell, strengthened by

darkened witchcraft, Freyja taught.

She left me, for a man, who is caught

by his wealth, chained by the weight

of gold, a love so deep it challenges

King Midas of the golden touch.

she enjoyed our nights, engulfed by

the fine woven thread so precious

like it was made by Rumpelstiltskin.

But now, she must bathe in gold and silver,

my meagre kingdom is not big

enough for her. My swordsmanship

is no longer treasured, my looks not

worth the emeralds and rubies

that now adorn her. Oh poor me.”

A prince he may be but not strong

in love, a heart blackened by pain

and frostbitten by that ice cold

woman. While he wastes his time

on a girl he would forget, mourning

a relationship well sunk by greed,

a fair young changeling comes into

the scene. A forgotten fae, raised

hidden by humans. Celeste, a maiden

Young and fierce, A woman, ahead of her time,

for I will say nothing about the fear like

that of an angry goddess, She faced, speaking just about her own odyssey,

Once she began, the changeling fought partly for both her

own honour and money she needed, no glory was found,

rather like Atlanta, she strove for glory and ended up with love.

Oh, look! A has found the young fae-born in,

The very woods that hid his rivers of tears and angry exclamations.

“I see a maiden, oh how she must be Diana, striking

Out in the woods or Artemisinin looking for her mistress.

No, She must not be one of these, her face shows proof of that most powerful love.

It is adorned by the kisses of the very gods.

Her delicate hair, the very colour of the falling leaves that Ceres demands,

I can not tell whether her lips are stained red

by her arrow stricken prey, or as an incitement placed by this woman.

As I look, She must be an immortal god, one of those people

based by Venus or beyond that of a mere human. This must be fate”

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