Авторский текст из финального пакета. Сверка с аудио — после загрузки записи.
The Fates had left one narrow door:
a life could take his place.
His father held the years he had.
His mother turned her face.
She heard the silence in the room.
She asked no god for signs.
She placed her living hand in his
and stepped across his line.
Before my shadow reached the gate,
before I crossed the stone,
she stood inside another’s hour
and made the choice her own.
The beauty was not death.
The beauty was her own.
She crossed the measure meant for him
and entered it alone.
I did not teach her how to love.
I did not make her brave.
I only kept the threshold still
for what she freely gave.
I came with iron at my side.
The hour stood by her bed.
She did not hide behind the king
or bargain with the dead.
I raised the blade above her hair.
Her breathing did not change.
The room grew beautiful around
the law that stayed the same.
She wore no crown of sacrifice.
She asked no song or stone.
She looked once at the one she loved,
then crossed the line alone.
The beauty was not death.
The beauty was her own.
She crossed the measure meant for him
and entered it alone.
I did not teach her how to love.
I did not make her brave.
I only kept the threshold still
for what she freely gave.
He met me where the open grave
still held the evening’s heat.
The son of Zeus had come alone.
No witness heard his feet.
His living arms closed over mine
and held against the cold.
He fought for one returning breath,
not glory to be told.
The measure opened under strain.
The threshold gave once more.
He brought her veiled and breathing home
across the palace floor.
The beauty was not death.
The beauty was her own.
She crossed the measure meant for him
and entered it alone.
I did not lose her when she rose.
She never was my claim.
Her life returned to her own hands.
Her choice remained the same.
Her breath returned.
Her choice remained.