In the old days, when magic was used for curses and hate, there was a man known only as Manure Mouth. His name was well-earned because he spattered manure from his mouth with each word. His life was lonely. His world stank. The only hope he held out was for a kiss from true love, which would--as he believed--revert the curse and save him. The woman, though. His Lady Love, a woman of surpassing grace and empathy. She saw his heart through the curse and stayed with him as he talked. In his heart, the seed of love grew. He thought there was maybe a chance that this woman could be the first and only who would look past his affliction and release him from his curse. He was devoted to her. She didn't feel the same.
For years, he lived in her orbit, a secondary character in a would-be lover's life. He watched her grow old, and she invited him in as often as she could. Their conversations were always scarred by the manure that fell from his mouth every time he talked. She was close to him, but she kept a distance. For years, he held out hope, until: she passed away. The moment he heard of it, he rushed to her side and wept. When he clutched at her hand, he realized that he had truly come to love her for who she was, not for the chance she represented of his salvation. The seed he had so long nourished was now seared by the bitter cold frost of death. He clung to her corpse as his strength ebbed, until he, too, died. His body itself fell into manure.
There, on the spot where their corpses intermingled, a flower grew. It was fed by the manure of his curse and it grew to an enormous size and an inordinate beauty. People who never knew the couple of the flower came to see it. It became a point of pride for the city where they lived and the plant remained long after even the memory of Manure Mouth was lost into myth.
Even those who fail in life can have victory in death.
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