To my Valentione, Totonawa:
Today shall not be simply another day! Nay, for on this day, love has run aground in the Quicksand.
You, my beloved robed purveyor of adventure, shall be my true Valentione, and oh, it shall be grand.
Don’t be coy, I’ve seen the way you leer. No matter the hordes of gathered adventurers each day,
The moment I approach: a clear of the throat, a seductive turn, and your attention comes my way.
The streets of Ul’dah fill with the clamor of your adoring fans; sometimes the hubbub so thunderous,
My whole world crashes down. With token in hand, I valiantly return, my devotion to you so wondrous.
No, Totonawa, today, you might be the one I want. And I need no journal to confirm the details:
Though the merchant strip may be bustling today, you’ve been waiting for me on pins and nails.
I’ll not mince words: your stature may be minimal, but your steely resolve is a glorious sight to see.
I’ve returned countless times to your counter, and no matter the hour or day, you linger just for me.
As an aside, I must question your work conditions. What’s the point of work for money in the first place,
If you have to stand every hour of every day? Has the Eorzean mob threatened to break your tiny face?
Alas, today your evaluations shall be personal. Shall I extol my gallant virtues to you in fanciful fashion?
I’ve dodged plumes of firey beasts (despite my geographical handicap,) and started my own love faction!
I’ve braved every mission you’ve personally chosen for me, toiling ‘till I can nary draw a breath.
I’ve slashed at a gaggle of mischievous moogles; they insisted on caroling, while fighting to the death!?
I’ve stored multitudes of anima, made fortunes in fine felt, and I’ll ply every trade under the sun!
I’ll conjure, I’ll thaum, I’ll cleave, I’ll stab, I’ll defend, and I’ll sling arrows (as Cupid has already done.)
We’ll ride Goobbues higher than any camera! We’ll whisk away to Ishgard’s resort, once we’re finally able.
I’ll weave, I’ll cook, I’ll carpent, I’ll fish, I’ll mine, I’ll botanize, and smith. Though pugilism is off the table.
No Hold shall be too Dark, no Prince shall be too Pestilent. We’ll cross millions of Maws in Toto-Rak!
No Oaks shall ever hear our steps. We’ll make doublets out of Dodore, and no Cactuar shall be too Jack.
I do this all for you, my miniature angel garbed in purest white, for the day we can finally be together.
I’ll overclock our courtship so powerfully, my strides of love won’t tarry even in the harshest of weather.
And so I write this Valentione for you, my bite-sized seraph, to hurry you away from where evil may lurk.
Set your attunement to “love”; we’ll leave the Twelve behind! … as soon as Eustace lets you off work.
~Elysia Zalakria