In Averland, beneath gold and green, Lived a lady of noble mien, With eyes of jade, a piercing gleam, And hair like sunlit, silken stream. She bore the name of Altwald’s kin, A house of honor, steeped in sin; Betrothed to one both dark and sly, A devil’s mark hid in his eye. Through whispers cold, she learned his path, A worshiper of fiendish wrath; No holy vows could chain her there, Nor bind her heart in dark despair. So on the eve of wedding dread, She slipped away in twilight’s thread; To trade her silk for traveling clothes, And set her heart where freedom flows. Her bodice green, her shoulders proud, A feathered hat, defiant, loud; She strode with lute and dagger keen, The noble-born turned gypsy queen. In inns and halls, she sings the tale, Of love forsaken, spirits frail, Of empires built on bonds untrue— And freedom’s fire born anew. Now all who hear her haunting song Know Evelinde, forever strong; The jade-eyed bard who dared to flee, To find her fate and destiny.
