Greed: Part 3

Chapter Three: A Fire Rekindled

The vows were sworn, the night was cold,

Yet love was bought, like silver sold.

A kiss was placed, both firm and light,

A fleeting touch, devoid of might.

Eleanor’s hands were soft yet strong,

Yet Lucian felt that something’s wrong.

For though her lips had met his own,

His heart, it beat for one unknown.

Not Selene—no, her ghost had passed,

A fading dream, a love outcast.

But something stirred, both strange and new,

Within his bride of eyes so blue.

Beyond the gates, where shadows fell,

Selene stood still, her heart unwell.

She’d watched the vows, the rings, the fate,

And knew her love had come too late.

Her lips had cursed, her hands had fumed,

Yet deep within, her heart was doomed.

For love, once bright, now dimmed to grey,

A flame that fate had torn away.

She turned to leave, yet cast once more

A glance upon the gilded door.

“If love was true, it should have won,

Yet even gold can block the sun.”

And so she left, a phantom’s trace,

Her love now lost without a place.

No whispered name, no last embrace,

Just silence cold—a hollow space.

Within the halls of marble white,

A lonely bride had claimed her right.

Not love nor lust, nor false pretense,

But something keen—an elegance.

Eleanor sat, her hands at rest,

A regal poise within her chest.

No bitter words, no vengeful cries,

Just quiet storms behind her eyes.

Lucian watched, yet could not speak,

For though his heart still felt so weak,

He saw within her silent grace

A strength that time could not erase.

“You do not scorn, nor play the fool,”

He said, his voice now strangely cool.

“I am no fool,” was her reply,

Her words as sharp as steel passed by.

“I knew too well the path you tread,

The lover lost, the words unsaid.

But let it burn, let time decide,

And let me stand here—by your side.”

A vow of strength, no lesser creed,

Not bound by lust, nor love, nor greed.

Yet something there, beneath the guise,

Lay waiting still, in patient rise.

Days grew long, the seasons turned,

Yet something deep in Lucian burned.

Not passion fierce, nor lust’s embrace,

But something slow—a subtle trace.

For Eleanor, though firm and bright,

Had never shunned nor shown despite.

She did not beg, nor did she plea,

Yet held herself with dignity.

And Lucian, lost within his mind,

Began to see, began to find—

That love was not just fire’s kiss,

But steady hands in nights like this.

A glance, a touch, a whispered word,

A laugh too soft to go unheard.

And though his heart had once been torn,

A newer song began to form.

Yet love is cruel and fate is wise,

For shadows linger where truth lies.

And far beyond the palace walls,

A vengeful ghost still softly calls.

A tale of love once lost, now found,

Where silent hearts begin to sound.

Yet past still haunts and fate still turns,

And scorned love’s wrath forever burns.

For though a heart may shift and change,

Not all are kind within love’s range.

To Be Continued

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