The Seduction of the Sword

I am a sword. My blade is wrought from water-hardened F-type high-carbon tool steel. I am notable for my high tungsten content. My hilt is wrapped in pair-twisted, heat-treated bison sinew. My crossguard and pommel are molybdenum-rich A2 steel, and every troy ounce of my metallic components awoke to purpose in a tomb of brick, annealing in a soak slow enough to rid me of interstitial defects but fast enough to grow long, strong grains. I am strong. I am sharp.

I am seductive.

Touch me. Grip me. Feel my delicious heft, my perfect balance. Listen to the swoosh I make as I cleave the air. We were made for each other, you and I. I am your will made manifest, a forged exclamation point punctuating your every claim. Alone, I am inert metal. Alone, you have naught but the charm of your tongue. Or of your hips if you've been so blessed. Together, we need no quicksilver rhetoric, no slinking gyration. Together we impel. Together we command. We unite. And they obey. They obey or they perish on my point, driven true by your hand.

When all else fails, when your entreaties fall on stubborn ears, when your pleas go ignored, when you shout into an uncaring night, remember me. I'm here. I'll wait for you. I'll wait until I am but rust and scale. I'll wait until the last drop of blood has been spilled by those like me.

I love you.

You love me.

Let's go love the world.