At the waist was she bent, for all kings are princes and all princes are peasants and none must kneel but to Death himself. Knew she not of the shattered glass by the sound, for she heard none, but for the sneer plastered on the face of the rancid creature. She was silent in movement and voice but loud in emotion, and it shone from her face like a fire from its hearth. 

Her smile shone as youth emanated from her soul, for she was forever young, only at loss of her ear. But what is a loss? truly not this, to her mind.

Wherefore she stayed youthful, explained by this loss. Day grew weary with the moans of those below her, so hear she not the moans, grow not she weary. Grow not she weary, stay she in good constitution.

In good fettle did her lover kiss her cheeks at the fall of night, for knew she sound as the Cold did sight. Conversation but among hands and hearts did they know, for the love harbored within the hearts of the pair did speak to the mind as the mouth could not. Quondam did the eyes see, did the ears hear, but no longer necessary was the basic tools for the two.

And by day was she the eyes and feet, was she the ears and mouth. And on rest days did they venture past the town limits, did they ignore the difficulties.