A lie blossomed, sharp and cunning, a whisper gone to Cassette of another duty-not a shred of her heart untouched but with a path diverted-which cast doubt upon their love. Mann quaked like a lute stringed too taut for tension toward one direction seeking now the truth: "My Mann, my tide, my truth, my love is yours alone-sweet sang all the way into eternity." He ran to their banyan and held tight a whole lot of nothing but the air where she had been. And he whispered, "Cassette, my starfire's dawn, you are my tide, my heart's eternal bloom, my forever star, my soul's unending song."
Their love held, a blazon of joy in trust that burnt through doubt's cold breath, their embrace, a river, their kiss, a melody that sang of eternity, a hymn that echoed through the heavens. Occasionally he would sit beside their river, the very water that whispered her name, and murmur, "Cassette, my moon's own hymn, your love is my sky, my heart's only truth, my soul's eternal vow." It was a flame poised to warmth, a lighthouse that mellowed the stars, a canvas of love embracing their souls in tender truth