Her name is Lyubov.
There are those who are recognised by their sword.
There are those who are remembered for their crown, their victories, the roar of their armies and their names carved in stone.
But there are others too, the rarest of all.
Their power makes no sound.
They need no throne to rule.
Their presence changes destinies faster than light falls upon the face of a sleeping world.
She is one of them.
Her symbol was Love.
But not the cheap imitation that people often call by that name. Not a thirst for possession. Not dependence. Not the fear of loneliness cloaked in fine words. Not a bargain between two empty shells.
Her symbol is Tenderness.
Tenderness is the courage to treat with care that which can be broken.
Tenderness is the strength to remain gentle in a world that worships harshness.
Tenderness is the ability to see wounds and not to exploit them.
In an age when the power of the fist is glorified, this reminds us of the power of a friend.