Good evening, dearest, I hope you will find this to your liking.

Ah, beloved, I eagerly await your return! Spinning, all I see is your beautiful and handsome face! Ah, it’s incredible. When you left on your journey, I remember it so. Oh God, you were so handsome. Through my brown locks I saw you disappear into the forest with your luggage; I know you did not want to depart, I know that you wanted to stay with me! As you disappeared into the forest, you offered one final look towards me. A look of sadness it was! Then you faded, mist, nothing was left. Only I, your princess, hopelessly in a spinning sense of heartwrenching madness, is still here. Oh, I patiently stay. Outside the window all I see is the darkness that you left behind. Dearest, you will see me here when you return, which I pray will be soon. For now, I shall sleep, sleep until you return. Amongst the walls of poetry I scribe, next to your picture. Your picture, it’s a sanctuary for such a quiet and delicate flower like me. But seeing your face, it makes me so much happier. Spinning, spinning, all I see, until you return for me. There’s nothing holding me back; this sensation of spinning, of twirling! Oh, it’s maddening! My treasury, my undeniable spirit for the knight who left, but I promise shall return! Spinning faster, faster! Oh, I cannot suppress this patience! It’s drifting, fading as you did that day! Spinning, spinning like the tip of a lance, a lance of peace is all you left behind. You’re burying me in these memories! I take this dagger, this lance of shrewd memory and bury it within my gentle arm! See this blood I place upon the wall?! It’s for you! My legacy will surround you as yours surrounded me! Spinning so quickly I cannot see anything! Only you, my dearest! It’s all for you! For you to read, as I say “good night!” Good night, my dearest!

Once again the lines trailed. As the second tale closed, a cold and frigid chill ran through the room. The prisoner’s thin clothing offered little protection, but curiosity was his best weapon. He reached his hand out towards the wall, feeling a cold sensation. The wall’s cold sensation faded, with the wind still blowing through the thin, small window. The sensation left behind an eerily warm feeling. As the prisoner’s hand pressed against the wall, he felt it touch another indentation. Or was it a scripture in ink? He did not know, nor want to know. He just wanted more. He began to read another tale, this one beginning:

“Amazing. Simply amazing.”