A Wounded Healer

Amid realms where magic softly weaves,

A sorceress in shadows grieves.

Her heart bound by empathy's grace,

A healer of souls, she finds her place.

With tender touch and whispers kind,

She mends the fragments left behind.

In broken hearts and spirits worn,

Her gentle magic is reborn.

Yet, with each mend and soothing balm,

Her heart feels sorrow's haunting psalm.

For soldiers' souls she tends and cures,

But her own solitude endures.

In midnight's hush, her chants take flight,

A sorceress of healing light.

Through woven words and mystic brews,

She mends the souls, old wounds diffuse.

But as the shadows gently part,

Her desolation strains her heart.

Into the world, she sends them back,

While she, in silence, stays off-track.

In silent woods and sacred glades,

Her presence comforts and persuades.

To mend the hurt, the sorrows known,

Her mission crafted, love is sown.

Behind her eyes, a hint of pain,

Her sacrifices aren't in vain.

The broken find their paths renewed,

But she remains in solitude.

Though magic flows within her veins,

It's isolation that she maintains.

A cursed healer with a blessed art,

To mend lost souls and then depart.

And so she stays in shadows' veil,

Her presence, like a soothing gale.

While others find their peace and start,

She mends in solitude, her own heart.