A basket of food
carried close at her side
the Watchmen's repast
she brought Him with pride

her footfalls were light
upon the cold stone
no sound to announce her
she approached them alone

her lips parted wide
but silent her screams
the Watchman lay dying
the assassin's blade gleamed

a tiny step back
the young slave withdrew
her gaze touched the eyes
of the Master he slew

and then to the top
of the tower she sped
the slavegirl determined
to scream for the dead

her small hand reached out
to take up the cord
then pain sliced right through her
the assassin's blade scored

he ran from her then
believing her killed
but not this small slavegirl
her strength was not stilled

she pulled to her feet
and reached up once more
and with her last breaths
she evened the score

into still night
the bell tolled its warning
the enemy would not
have the city by morning

as the battle began
the girl finally fell
but her cries carried on
in the toll of the bell

the girl came to rest
in a bed of soft flowers
at the base of the stairs
she bled out the hours

the blood of one slave
for the safety of all
on petals stained crimson
lay the girl we recall

the sweet slavegirl lived
but that's not our story
tonight we tell tales
of her moment of glory

for out of that night
and tended with care
came the soft crimson bloom
of the talender we share

no city save ours
and in no other bowers
grows the bright bloodred blossom
of parisa's flowers

   *caemlyn

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