You still warm me at night, my knight. It's as if you are the fire my soul sits by and the hearth which my heart sits against.
As much as the fair Maiden stumbled and pushed and fought her way against the discomfort, the Knight would wait ever so patiently for her to surrender to the warmth he could, and wanted to, provide. She feared that kind of love, for she had never experienced such pureness. Such patience, coming ...