Three times he had released her, 

Three times he’d let her go, 

In lieu of having her accused again, 

He’d let his heart say no.

The first time she knew well, 

As he’d obeyed her silent plea,

And left her alone, no missives more, 

He’d left her to be free.

But she’d refused that final gift, 

And pursued him for some reason, 

Creating an ever-gaping rift, 

That she used against him, treason.

The second time she’d come for him, 

Out of the blue with red flowers, 

Which seemed to mock him for her lies,

But he’d refrained from using lawful powers.

The third time she’d sicced a pig on him. 

For what reason it is unknown, 

Calling his house likely to threaten, 

Yet, once again, his grace was shown. 

He did not turn her in, 

Nor did he seek to ruin her, 

Though she had done it to him so cruel, 

He could have for sure. 

And now he’d released her a fourth time,

Though the thrice had not moved her heart, 

But he felt it best to sever forever, 

Not to hold that threat in part. 

She was completely free now to debase herself, 

With an ungodly ugly troll, 

Do what she wished without fear of reprisal, 

Ruin more her own soul. 

But she was also free to do what was right, 

And atone to him for her duplicity, 

For she had no more reason to fear the law, 

If she gave in to him freely, 

And paid her debt to him, 

A massive debt she owed, 

She could do so now without worry,

Take the redemption road. 

But the question was if she were as ugly, 

As the troll that she had picked, 

Was her soul redeemable or just black,

Was she kind or was she sick? 

For all she had to do, 

To remove the enemy she did create, 

Was make one concession to him, 

To open that golden gate, 

And give him a piece of her soul, 

What she owed him without question, 

Give him something he had wanted, 

Instead of to ugly little men. 

She was worth more than she let herself believe, 

Worth more than avaricious ugly clods so grim, 

And so was he and she damn well knew it, 

So she must show her worth to him.

It was and was always her call, 

He could not make her do it, 

But she knew it was what was right, 

And better than her suitor piece of shit. 

If she gave into him one time, 

Than her sins would be forgiven, 

And she could ruin herself freely with a troll, 

Instead of finding love with him. 

That was her call, not his, 

But the debt was not a choice, 

It would be pad by her willingly, 

Or conscience would take all rejoice. 

She knew how to reach him, 

And her god commanded she do so, 

For her to provide retribution, 

To finally end the woe. 

And she knew what to do, 

Though she’d feign repugnance, 

Her flesh was not holy, 

And she’d given it to demonic ones. 

It was his, she knew she owed it, 

But her heart would make her pay, 

If she did or didn’t, 

Yet it was only righteous the former way. 

She could spare her pride for righteous reason, 

Do what was good and make things right, 

Or hide with slime, the ugly men, 

And damn her soul to darkness without light.