It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
The first sign of the horrible things to come is the jagged piece of lined paper, like someone ripped it out of a notebook, folded in half on her desk in Sirenology.
Curious, she unfolds it and reads the contents.
Immediately, her curiosity is replaced by annoyance and a tiny bit of hurt.
what up enid?
i thnk your supes hot after that fight w/the hyde, even with the scars and stuff
if your interested hit me up and we can have a good time ;)
(802) 555-0684
- Damien
Of course she knows who Damien is (she is the gossip queen of Nevermore after all). He’s a sleazy werewolf always trying to get with one girl or another. Apparently, his first target of this semester is Enid, starting with this trashy note.
Wow, how romantic.
And the worst part is, she has to deal with him raising suggestive eyebrows at her throughout the rest of class, which she largely manages to ignore.
The second class ends, Enid throws the note in her textbook, slams it shut, and practically runs out of class to avoid Damien trying to talk to her.
Wednesday catches up with her halfway down the hall, where Enid stopped to wait for her.
She throws Enid a very confused and annoyed expression, but thankfully doesn’t say anything as they continue on to their next class, Enid more than happy to fill the silence with empty rambling as they go.
Later that night, after Enid gets back to their dorm and starts working on her homework, she opens her Sirenology textbook only for the note to slip out from between the pages.
Throwing the note aside in disgust, Enid lays back on her bed and pouts up at the ceiling. With a small groan of annoyance, Enid picks up the piece of paper, crumples it up viciously, and flings it away, almost slamming her textbook shut in annoyance.
Of course the first ever “confession” she receives is from a skeezeball like Damien just looking to hook up.
What an encouraging start to the semester.
About an hour later, Enid is staring at herself in the mirror, biting her lip and twirling the front strands of her hair on the left side of her face.
She’s always known they were ugly (a sentiment her mother made sure to drive home in her mind during the break), but she was hoping people at Nevermore wouldn’t care so much, considering that she helped save everyone’s lives last semester (even if it was only by proxy through saving Wednesday from Tyler).
But apparently people do notice them, and they think they’re as ugly as she does.
Unfortunately, no amount of foundation or make-up is enough to cover them up (and she’s certainly tried), but maybe if she started wearing her hair in a different way, it wouldn’t be as noticeable?
Naturally, this is the moment Wednesday gets back to their room.
Enid jumps and spins around guiltily, ready to explain that she was only thinking of re-dyeing her hair, but Wednesday isn’t even paying attention to her.
She’s too busy reading through an ancient, thick tome (when does she read anything else besides textbooks, honestly?) to notice what Enid’s doing, so Enid quickly runs over to her bed and lays down, pulling over a magazine and pretending to read it before Wednesday notices her.
“Hey Wednesday!” Enid says cheerfully.
Wednesday looks up immediately, shutting the door behind her with a single foot, and frowns slightly.
“What’s wrong?” She asks.
“Nothing!”
Enid winces. She definitely responded just a little too quickly for that to sound natural, and Wednesday definitely noticed.
Wednesday crosses over to her own bed on the opposite side of the room, sets her bag and huge book aside, and sits down, all without looking away from Enid even once.
She raises an eyebrow slightly, clearly waiting for Enid to break.
Enid lasts a grand total of twenty seconds (her new personal record).
With a defeated sigh, she lets her fake smile drop and, head hanging, picks up the crumpled ball and tosses it half-heartedly across the room.
Thing helpfully scurries over from his spot on Wednesday’s shoulder to pluck the letter from the floor and take it back over to Wednesday, who uncrumples it with her usual elegant meticulousness.
“I found this on my desk in Sirenology, before you got there.” Enid says. She starts playing with her hair again while Wednesday reads it, unexpectedly anxious as to what her response will be.
“His grammar is atrocious.” Wednesday starts, and hearing such a Wednesday-response immediately untenses Enid’s shoulders and brings a tiny smile to her face. “I don’t understand the terminology of “hit me up” nor the purpose of this obnoxious letter.”
“Um, well, “hit me up” means he wants me to text him. And it’s sort of a love confession, but not? He’s mostly sort of implying that he wants to, uh, sleep with me. You know- like- yeah.”
Wednesday’s raised eyebrow raises ever-so-slightly higher.
She breathes what could be a scoff and crumples the piece of paper back up into a ball.
“If that was his intention, he’s woefully misinformed as to what constitutes a love confession or an acceptable way to ask someone to engage in intercourse.” She throws the ball towards her trash can without looking and, naturally, it lands inside perfectly.
“What do you know about love confessions, Wednesday?” Enid can’t help but tease.
“Evidently more than this Damien.” Wednesday says coldly, making Enid laugh.
Wednesday’s head tilts.
“Is this the same Damien that we share second period Sirenology with?”
Enid cringes slightly.
“Yeah.”
“He was the reason you were so eager to leave class.”
“Um, maybe? Why?”
“No particular reason. He was the one who kept staring at you throughout class, correct?”
“Wait, you noticed that?”
“I notice everything.”
Enid rolls her eyes fondly.
“Yeah, he was the one staring.”
“He made you uncomfortable.”
Enid finds it hard to answer, eventually settling on a timid nod.
“Hm.”
Wednesday doesn’t say anything more, simply staring at the space behind Enid blankly.
Enid frowns suspiciously and opens her mouth to make sure Wednesday’s not already planning to murder or maim someone.
Enid’s of the firm opinion that Wednesday should wait at least a week before she starts planning out vicious attacks against their peers, an argument she won after an hour of logical facts, not-so-logical opinions, powerpoint slides, and a hyper-realistic drawing of the human anatomy. Wednesday eventually conceded with minimal grumbling. Enid was quite happy to take the win.
Before she can question Wednesday though, Wednesday frowns.
“Enid, your scars aren’t ugly. You shouldn’t hide them. They’re a testament to your strength and resilience.”
Enid didn’t even realize she’d been tugging her hair over the left side of her face.
She stops and looks at Wednesday sheepishly.
Wednesday looks away from her briefly before meeting Enid’s eyes firmly.
“They’re a reminder that you saved my life, and therefore the entire school. You should never feel ashamed of them, and never let imbeciles like Damien try to convince you to feel otherwise.”
Enid’s mouth quirks into a smile even as embarrassment washes through her.
She tucks her hair back behind her ear.
“You’re right, Wednesday.”
“I usually am.” Wednesday says before heading to her typewriter, effectively ending the conversation.
Enid doesn’t mind though.
She feels warm and happy now, a far cry from the past hour, and a little bit silly after Wednesday’s precise dismemberment of Damien’s stupid note.
But she’s mostly happy.
Shaking her head at her own silliness, she gets out her Vampires and Other Nocturnal Creatures textbook to work on the assignment due tomorrow, deciding to worry about her Sirenology homework later.
It takes her a bit longer to complete the assignment than she thought it would; the clack of Wednesday’s typewriter keys are more distracting than usual, as if she’s pushing them harder than she needs to.
But Wednesday only ever does that when she’s angry. (Genuinely angry, not the typical general annoyance she feels about almost everything).
Enid rolls her eyes at herself and focuses on her assignment.
What would Wednesday have to be angry about barely two days into the semester?
Exactly five days later (with Damien making increasingly lewd innuendos and gestures towards Enid in class), he opens his textbook only to find it hollowed out and filled to the brim with insanely large black widow spiders. He screams as they crawl up his arms and spread out all over him, despite his best attempts to shake them off.
The entire class starts laughing (almost no one likes Damien) while the teacher bolts over and attempts to help Damien remove the spiders from his person.
Enid’s fighting down her own giggles, but can’t help glancing at Wednesday for her reaction, knowing this was entirely her doing.
She has one of the most self-satisfied looks Enid’s ever seen on her face, and that’s what finally makes Enid burst out laughing.
Her best friend is the best .
A week and a half after the spider incident, Enid finds a bouquet of roses and a folded note with her name on it on her desk in Outcast History class just after lunch.
Excitement fills her as she quickly approaches her desk and opens the note.
The paper (and the handwriting especially) are much nicer than Damien’s note was, feeling like paper from a watercolor sketchbook.
Inside is what’s supposed to be a romantic love confession.
It fails miserably in its attempt.
My Dearest Enid,
I cannot appropriately express the fullness of my adoration for you in these inadequate words; I can only hope that this poem will suffice. I believe it to be most fitting for a creature as powerful and beautiful as you. Despite the scarring of your lovely face, like thorns tearing through the petals of a beautiful rose, you are still as enchanting to me as the first rose in spring.
“Oh my Love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
Oh my Love is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair you are, my lovely girl,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love you still, my dear,
Until all the seas are dry.
Until all the seas are dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt with the sun;
I will love you still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And may you be well, my only love!
And may you be well awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
Even if it were ten thousand miles.
I hope this poem adequately expresses my love for you, as I love you more than I can say. I’ll take you on a romantic date tonight, a picnic under the stars. We can go over the details in our shared Fencing Class. I await you until then.
Forever Yours,
Anteros
Enid’s eye is twitching in annoyance by the end of it, and she’s three seconds away from tossing the roses in the trash.
Wednesday settles into the seat next to her, looks over, and says, “Ah, has Damien made another attempt? At least he gave you flowers this time, something I’ve heard is a typical gift to indicate affection, even if roses are rather simple and over-used.”
Enid snaps.
She lurches from her seat, grabs the bouquet, stalks across the classroom, and throws the flowers into the trash can so hard she breaks a good number of the stems.
Feeling only a little better, she storms back to her seat and plops down with an incensed fire in her stomach.
Wednesday’s eyes are marginally wider than usual, a detail Enid catches out of the corner of her eye.
Enid can’t bring herself to care though, too busy staring angrily at the note still on her desk, wishing she could set things on fire with her eyes alone.
Actually…
“I don’t suppose you have any matches on you?”
“Always, of course.” Wednesday produces a few matches from who-knows-where and passes them over. “So this was somehow worse than the previous one, I take it?”
Sighing, Enid puts the matches aside, knowing she should at least wait until she’s outside with a glass of water to avoid setting the entire school on fire, and pushes the note towards Wednesday.
Wednesday takes it delicately between her long fingers and starts reading.
Enid sets her chin on her folded arms grumpily, foot tapping underneath her desk in agitation.
“Ah.” Wednesday says a few moments later.
“First of all,” Enid bursts out, snapping upwards from her sulk and turning to face Wednesday. “He doesn’t even bother to credit the author of the poem and even implies that he wrote it! As if I wouldn’t recognize Robert Burns when I read him! I freaking aced the Advanced History of Literature class last year, and the romantic literature unit was my favorite!”
“I’m shocked.” Wednesday says blandly.
“Second of all,” Enid steamrolls over Wednesday’s remark, “he changed the original words to completely modern English, and I honestly can’t tell if it’s because he didn’t want me to trace it back to the actual poem or if he just thinks I’m stupid. As if I don’t know what “bonnie lass” or “the seas gang dry” means!”
“Perhaps he’s the one who didn’t know what it meant and needed someone else’s help to translate it?” Wednesday muses.
The comment makes Enid snort, but she’s still too mad to be diverted from her rant.
“And third, it’s just so freaking arrogant! He doesn’t even ask if I’m interested, he just assumes I’ll want to go on a date with him as soon as possible, not even thinking about the fact that I, oh I don’t know, might already have plans tonight!”
“Do you?” Wednesday tilts her head curiously.
“Of course! I’m hanging out with my best friend.”
Wednesday looks back down at the note.
“I see. Remind Yoko that I haven’t driven a wooden stake through her heart yet, but that doesn’t mean she should get comfortable.”
Enid translates that to “give her my regards”, but smiles and knocks her shoulder against Wednesday’s, delighted when Wednesday doesn’t shoot her a glare for it.
“Dork, I was talking about you.”
Wednesday turns her head very slowly towards Enid.
“ I’m your best friend? When did this occur?”
“Well, of course we’re best friends! You and I saved the whole school together last semester, and even before that, we were friends already well on our way to becoming besties.”
Wednesday, in an incredibly rare occurrence, seems to be struck dumb, simply staring at Enid.
Enid grins at her and knocks their knees together.
“Don’t worry, you can deny it all you want, but I know you know it. We’re besties, and you can’t do anything about it.”
Wednesday’s eyes twitch very slightly before she turns to face the front of class, just as their teacher walks in.
Enid starts getting out her favorite sparkly pen set (the one that makes Wednesday grimace slightly every time she sees it).
Then Wednesday murmurs very quietly; “I suppose I won’t deny it, then.”
Enid drops her pens and whips around to face Wednesday, her eyes wide, mouth agape.
Wednesday immediately glares at her, though the usual murderous glint is noticeably absent from her eyes.
“I won’t admit anything to anyone else, not even under threat of death or torture, and if you so much as imply anything so unsavory about me to a single person-”
“I know, I know, you’ll gut me with your favorite silver knife.” Enid waves her hand casually and grins. “But that’s still progress. One inch of duct tape at a time, right?” She picks her pens back up and faces forward just as the teacher starts talking.
“And as for admitting anything, we both know you live for getting death threats and enduring torture.” Enid whispers.
Wednesday doesn’t say anything in response, but a moment later, Enid feels a foot lightly tap against hers, making her smile.
A few minutes into class, a fire mysteriously starts in the trash can Enid threw the roses in, just as she realizes that the stupid “love letter” and the matches have disappeared from her desk.
She hears Thing scuttling back over to them a minute later, settling himself under Wednesday’s chair.
Enid lightly taps her foot against Wednesday’s and feigns picking up a fallen pen to give Thing a fistbump.
She doesn’t stop grinning for the rest of class.
(Later that day, Enid quickly and politely turns Anteros down during fencing class, ignoring the hissy fit he throws at the rejection. It doesn’t escape her notice that Wednesday chooses him as her partner instead of Bianca, nor that Wednesday thoroughly beats his ass during the rest of class).
As the weeks go on, Enid keeps getting love confessions in many different forms, from girls and boys alike, each one somehow worse than the last.
She’s pretty sure it’s gone from people actually being attracted to her to a weird sort of competition.
Who will be the one to finally score a date with the unwinnable Enid Sinclair?
That thought only makes the love confessions worse.
Some of them are arrogant and overly-confident, others degrading and superficial, but a good portion of them are genuinely sweet.
The majority are awkwardly accepting or completely nonplussed when she lets them down gently (confirming her competition theory), but some of them lash out at her for thinking she’s too good for them.
Worse still, some of them only redouble their efforts to earn her affections with increasingly extravagant and embarrassing romantic displays, to the point of genuinely creeping her out. (And considering that her roommate is Wednesday Addams, that’s saying a lot).
Luckily, Wednesday’s very helpful with sending these borderline stalkers running before they get too out-of-hand.
Case in point: Enid’s third almost-stalker (roughly two months into the semester) gets up on her table and showers Enid with rose petals in the middle of the Quad.
During lunch.
In front of almost every student in the school.
Enid’s frozen as he very loudly proclaims that he’s absolutely in love with her.
It, quite possibly, is one of the most mortifying experiences of her life.
The embarrassment ends when Wednesday climbs up on the table, rips the empty bucket out of his hands, takes him by the collar and backs him up until she’s the only thing preventing him from falling off the table.
Then she threatens to eviscerate him so violently and gruesomely that it makes even Enid’s stomach turn, and Enid’s had months of wolfing out and hunting deer to get over her problem with blood and gore.
Once Wednesday’s finished with her (disturbingly detailed) threat, she callously lets go of him and straightens her uniform.
The creep falls to the ground with a surprised cry that quickly turns into a pained groan when he makes contact.
Wednesday proceeds to turn a murderous glare on all the staring students until everyone (very quickly) turns their attention back to their own conversations.
She hops down casually and sits in her seat beside Enid, acting like nothing happened.
When silence continues to reign over their table, Wednesday looks up with a raised eyebrow.
“Problem?”
“That. Was. Awesome!” Eugene says.
“God, remind me to never get on your bad side.” Bianca mutters.
“Considering the fact that I haven’t brought a hidden knife to one of our fencing bouts, it should be quite evident you haven’t managed to land yourself on my bad side. Yet.”
“Wow, thanks Wednesday.” Bianca rolls her eyes. “I’m really feeling the warm fuzzies.”
“If you ever did, they would be tarantulas.”
“Ugh, gross.”
“Hey, tarantulas are kind of cute!” Enid says, exchanging a fistbump with Eugene over the table.
“You’re too nice for your own good.” Yoko says, gesturing with a thumb at the gorgon boy limping away from their table.
“I know.” Enid sighs.
When their friends eventually start talking about something else, Enid leans a little closer to Wednesday.
“Thanks.” She whispers.
Wednesday doesn’t acknowledge her, except to lightly tap her foot against Enid’s.
Enid spends the rest of lunch with a small smile on her face.
Enid gets the first letter a week after the rose petal incident.
After the many, many love confessions of varying quality she’s received over the semester, Enid approaches it as cautiously as she would one of Wednesday’s black mambas.
Taped to their door is a creamy white envelope with her name written across it in beautiful cursive handwriting.
Filled with a creeping sense of dread, Enid takes the envelope down and enters their room, dropping her bag and sitting on the end of her bed.
She flips it over and over in her hands, wondering if she should even bother opening it.
After all, this isn’t the first love letter she’s gotten, and none of the ones before have been anything even approaching good.
“Get another one?” Wednesday asks from her desk, working on an assignment of some sort.
Enid looks at the back of Wednesday’s head and sighs.
“Yeah.” She places the envelope carefully on her desk (it’s really nice paper after all).
“I just don’t understand why you’re not getting as many as me.” Enid says. “I mean, you’re the one who saved the school from Crackstone and Thornhill; all I did was beat a Hyde in a fight.”
Wednesday turns in her seat, glaring at Enid for the first time in a while. (Actually, when was the last time Wednesday glared at her? At least, in a serious way?)
“First of all, beating a Hyde, by yourself, and during your first transformation no less, is absolutely no small feat. The majority of werewolves wouldn’t have managed it. In addition to that, you saved my life, Enid. From where I’m standing, that’s much more impressive than bringing down the walking corpse of an old pilgrim and a teacher with hyped-up visions of grandeur.
“Second of all, much as I hate to agree with her, Yoko was right in saying that you’re too nice. I’ve been approached by prospective suitors only twice, both very early on in the semester, and my subsequent rejection of each has both prevented others from trying to do likewise and led both would-be suitors to never try approaching me again. In fact, I believe they actively try to avoid me now. As they should.”
“Wait, when were you asked out?” Enid asks, temporarily distracted from her own love life and fully focused on Wednesday’s (though it makes her feel a bit weird in a way she can’t quite figure out). “How could you not tell me this? Who even were they?”
Wednesday ignores Enid’s questions entirely and nods towards Enid’s desk.
“Don’t you think you should read that? So that you at least know who you need to reject next?”
Enid groans, falling back on her bed and covering her face with her arms.
“I don’t wanna.” She whines. “I’m sick of this.”
“Well, if you don’t want to, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you and take care of your new suitor accordingly.”
Enid launches herself off the bed and scrambles towards her desk, barely managing to get the envelope before Wednesday does.
Wednesday watches her, amusement glittering in her eyes as Enid glares at her, clutching the letter to her chest protectively.
“Hell no! Funny as your pranks have been-”
Wednesday breathes in her way of scoffing.
“I would never stoop so low as to engage in something as juvenile as ‘pranks’. I merely threaten, intimidate, and occasionally dabble in minor acts of violence to prevent your overactive emotions from interrupting my daily routine. If you let me read this one, I can engage in pre-emptive action rather than deal with the inevitable emotional fallout that you always insist on dragging me into.”
Enid rolls her eyes and backs up a few paces.
“Well, whatever you want to call your campaign of terror, I’m not letting you ambush some poor, innocent victim before I at least get the chance to let them down gently. Understood?”
Wednesday lets out a breath that’s almost a sigh.
“Very well, if you want to be boring about it.”
Wednesday walks back to her desk, so Enid at least doesn’t have to worry about Wednesday ambushing her and pulling the paper out of her hand.
(Mostly).
Shaking her head, Enid sits on her bed and opens the envelope, made of a thick, creamy paper that’s soft against Enid’s fingertips.
The folded letter inside is even nicer, the kind of paper she’s pretty sure people could only get at fancy stationery stores. The edges of it are even gilded with gold, a detail that almost makes Enid excited to read it.
She opens it and nearly gasps at the impossibly beautiful calligraphy inside. She doesn’t even read it for a moment, tracing reverent fingers over the beautiful letters lightly to prevent from accidentally smudging the ink.
She wants to enjoy how pretty the entire thing is for a moment before she reads it and it’s inevitably ruined.
But she can’t delay forever.
With a small sigh, she starts reading, straightening and blinking in shock the second she does.
Dear Idiot,
I wish I could hate you like I’m supposed to, since you’re the epitome of everything I hate, but for some reason I don’t.
It would be so much easier if your smile was faked to fool everyone into thinking you’re a kinder person than you actually are, to hide your manipulative nature underneath a pretty veneer. I would love it if that was the case. Then I could expose you for it to everyone in the school and ruin your popular reputation.
But no.
You really are as alluring as your countless line of would-be dates would suggest you are. And the worst part is that you don’t even really realize it. You don’t notice how you lure everyone in with your excitability, your inexhaustible energy, your contagious joy, your admittedly unexpected consideration of others, and the kindness and trust you give everyone you meet, no matter how little they deserve it.
From how surprised you always seem when someone confesses to you, how you don’t seem to understand why so many people are infatuated with you, is honestly completely beyond me. I might think you were stupid from how oblivious you seem if I didn’t know for a fact how smart you are in nearly every other way.
I don’t know if I should hate you or admire you for it.
It’s extremely annoying that I’m uncertain about this at all, since I find myself uncertain in very little else.
In my opinion, you should stop being so blatantly attractive in public, and at least limit it to the circle of people you’re close to. If nothing else, at least stop being so blind to your effect on the people around you. At this point, your obliviousness almost seems intentional on your part, even though I know it isn’t.
This entire situation is incredibly bothersome.
So stop.
Sincerely,
None Of Your Goddamn Business
She’s both very confused and confusingly flattered by the end of it.
She’s gotten a lot of love confessions in the past months, but this is the first one she’s ever received from a secret admirer.
At least, she’s pretty sure it’s a love confession.
Maybe.
She rereads it, getting butterflies in her stomach for the first time since the beginning of the red roses incident.
No, she’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be one, just a more aggressive kind than what she’s used to.
She almost appreciates it for its bluntness.
The strange compliments all throughout it feel more genuine and real than the compliments any of her other, as Wednesday calls them, ‘suitors’ have given her, largely because the rest almost always revolved around her werewolf strength and looks, while this one focuses on everything but her physical traits.
The general air of annoyance that the writer likes her at all makes her giggle as she reads it for a third time.
“Something amusing?” Wednesday asks.
“I just really like this one.” Enid says, surprised to find that she means it.
Wednesday turns in her chair to give Enid one of her “Oh really, Enid?” looks.
Wednesday probably means it to be slightly demeaning in a teasing way, but it only makes Enid feel special that she’s earned a specific look at all.
“Yeah.” She looks back at the letter, smiling as she rereads it for a fourth time. “I really do.”
The letter feels honest and real in a way that the rest of the confessions she’s received haven’t.
For that reason alone, instead of throwing it away or burning it with Wednesday in what’s become a fun new tradition between them, she instead puts it back in the envelope and places it in her bottom desk drawer.
Wednesday watches this with a skeptical look on her face, but eventually turns back to her desk to continue working.
They spend the rest of the night in a companionable almost-silence, Enid with her low-volume K-Pop and Wednesday with her hour of type-writing followed later by her daily cello practice.
Enid’s just getting settled into bed when Wednesday gets back inside.
Rather than head to bed herself though, she goes back to her desk and sits down.
Enid frowns slightly and sits up, leaning on one elbow.
Wednesday very rarely strays from her routine unless there’s some kind of dangerous investigation she’s running.
“Everything alright?” Enid asks.
Wednesday pauses very briefly before responding.
“I simply wish to finish our assignment from Outcast History early. It’s the only assignment I have yet to complete for this week.”
Enid rolls her eyes and slumps back down into bed.
“Nerd.” She says.
“Slacker.” Wednesday responds without hesitation.
With their nightly ritual of insulting each other to say good night completed, Enid smiles and rolls over to face the wall.
Within minutes, she falls asleep to the sound of a pen sliding across paper.
Original Version of the Poem in Anteros’s Letter:
“A Red, Red Rose”
By: Robert Burns
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.