The Hermit With a Story

Sapphire, they called her, for her eyes glowed with a blue as deep as the ocean.
Amber, they called her, for her hair shone with a crimson so bright you’d think it were fire.
Soot, they called her, for her pistol did smoke, with every shot that rung out.
Ash, they called her, for her cloak, as dark as the midnight shadows, trailed in her wake.
Warrior, they called her, for her blade was as swift as a bolt of lightning.
Healer, they called her, for her words could lift the pain of one’s heart.
Queen, they called her, for her kingdom stood strong, to those who sought to destroy it.
Savior, they called her, for she held their dreams dear to her heart.
Conqueror, they called her, for the infinite battles she’d won.
Victor, they called her, for she wore the champions’ shawl.
Failure, they called her, for darkness fell upon her land.
Mother, I called her, for, from her I was born.
Champion, I called her, for she stood to protect those who she loved, till death stood at her door.
Coward, they called me, for I never returned nor looked back, my absence burning inside their hearts.
Ghost Tale, they called me, for I had been forgotten by history, forgotten by my people, forgotten by time.
Hidden, I call myself, for I have never returned, buried deep below, away from those who I once thought dear.
Secret, I call myself, for I am alone, where no body nor soul will ever know.

Final Steps
 
A red moon cast on a folly filled night, 
Humans hid away in fright, 
A haunting melody in the air. 
 
For the Ivory King had arisen from his lair, 
one lone maiden of red dared, 
ventured into lands mortals beware. 
Slowly following the music of the dead, 
Not knowing where it led. 
 
She encountered the King 
amongst the tombs of the undead, 
but she had not fled. 
She slowly took his hand of ivory.
 And they danced amongst the tombs, 
“Maiden, why are you not in fear?”
“Why should I be afraid of the most magnificent being ever made.”