Authoress's Note:

Written in honour of the Grandchildren of Chaos, those born of the Daughter of Flame. Modified Petrarchan.

The First

How purest perfection sprang from tainted

Soul, she’ll never know. How did one bathed in

Blood and sin produce this flower-maiden,

Gentle, fair, kind, giving with elated

Smiles her care and compassion, healing

Hands and loving heart. She chooses to serve

First those who made her, who she deems deserve

Her balm, whose sorrow draws her keen feeling.

Gracious in the extreme, smile so sweet,

Voice so clear, none could deny her place at

Side of Light. And yet she lives on, a dove

Among sparrows, a fawn who willing greets

The wolves, disarming fear with touches that

Sooth. All that she does, thus does she for love.