Love is death.
Isn't that what all the great bards say?
They all speak of great harrowing tales of lost lovers. Love has been my demise. Love has been my salvation.
And I am ready. Because I am looking at him now, sword drawn, and he is beautiful. For him, I am ready to die. To kiss death as I've kissed him a thousand times before.
I will not regret my love for him and I will not regret fighting for him. Not now and certainly not when my body turns to bone and dust.
Because love is death.