Perhaps, that was not the end, though I was ready to retire, from the aura, which once seemed adorable. As I took a step further, a pure soul, she just ran into my way. And poured a few drops of smile, in my cup of grief. And to compensate the low spirits, which I carried, deep in my heart, she called me a mighty warrior. And battlefield, to the path I walked upon. The pure soul, she handed over me, a shining sword. Which wasn't too heavy as the miseries I owed. Rather was as light as a ton of relief. She, like a fairy godmother, blessed me, with the showers of hope. And herself, she got vanished, in just few snaps. Now, here was I, the new one. Bathed in the holy liquid say peace, with the sword in one hand, while a dearth of sorrow in other. Though the sword was magical, it sheded the blood of hatred, out of the bodies it stormed. And filled them all, with the feeling of love and joy.