I watch her daily, gliding everywhere she goes. She is the most beautiful person in the entire kingdom. I spend my days in my shops, hammering away at crude metal until it is a fine and polished sword fit for battle, but none of my creations can rival her beauty. She is a maiden so fair, so wonderful, that my words cannot begin to describe her. But yet they must.
Her face has the features of an angel; they are no imperfections to be seen. Her skin is a soft as wax, and it glows with a pale luster. Her eyes are like deep green emeralds that shine in the light of the midday sun, even in the darkest night. The legs on which she walks are tall, and as tempting as they are gorgeous. She glides about like a spirit upon the wind, so dainty, and so fair. She is perfect, in every way.
The hands that she uses to pluck the apples from her trees are small, and perfectly shaped. There are no broken bones, no lacerations on her skin. Her hair is deep brown and luscious, like the coat of my mare, only infinitely more beautiful than the beast’s. To me, she is perfect in every way.
She never sees me, never appreciates the fact that her prince is armed with my blade. That he fights for her honor with an instrument of my creation, that I am the one who slays those who would harm her, not her lovely prince. That I while burly and bulky, am the one who truly loves her. I may not have the features of a prince, or the intelligence of a sage. I may not have the faith of a friar, or the discipline of the sheriff. I do however have the love of ten thousand men for her, if only she would cast a single longing gaze my way.