Déjate Llevar.

I'm logging out!

Rest. If you need me, @TheogonyBot.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝕬𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖗𝖆, 𝕲𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝕮𝖑𝖊𝖔.

𝕾he was born on a 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲, her hair the colour of 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐲. The good faeries came to bless her 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, to give her 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲, grace and 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐞. They all came to celebrate, then turned a curse by fate, stormed in the Evil Carabosse, ablaze with hate, and cross.

"On your twentieth birthday,
finger pricked, you will lay
sleeping like the dead,
nevermore to tread!"

Swore the evil faery, laughter as far as her magic to carry. That was the last they saw of her, faraway with magic's lure. Then 𝐀urora, on a 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲, her hair the colour of 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐲, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝, she 𝐥𝐚𝐲, on her 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲.

"Aurora, rest, until you
marry, wait till true love's
first kiss, a prince,
impossible to miss." Silent
stood the Lilac Faery.

𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 fell the castle folk, no movements of a yoke, dormant for a 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬, lilac Faery had no fears. Along came the 𝐏rince 𝐋airs, up and down the winding stairs, till he came to her room, 𝐀urora's 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 on the 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦.

"Will you marry me, I love
you, you see!" "And so do
I!" In the brightened sky.

She was born on a 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲, hair the colour of 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐲, received 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆'𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔, romance to hard to miss.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ