Venice Craven

It was on one of these such trips that a man caught my eye. Very well dressed with mannerisms to match. I had thought at first he might of been a noble. He moved with a grace that captured my imagination. I tried not to stare, but it was difficult. I quickly looked down to the book in my lap, and it wasn't the heat of the fire before me that caused the blush that coloured my cheeks. When I looked up again he was gone.

Of course, he would not notice me. Who does? Not when I had gone to so much effort to ensure that I was not. I was not that much to look at even back then.

And so I became a regular at that Inn. Quietly reading on the thread-bare couch before the warmth of the hearth, hoping for the occasional glimpse of this mystery man who was like a lodestone for my eyes. Occasionally, not often.. but occasionally, I was rewarded with his presence and on such nights, my work went unattended and my magic was forgotten.

One night I was lucky though, he asked of the room if anyone had seen a particular man. And as fortune would have it, well, perhaps fortune was not so much involved but rather the fact I was in the Inn almost every night but regardless, I knew of the one he spoke of and got the opportunity to speak with him for the first time. There were only a few words exchanged, but I repeated them over in my head that night. The whole scene relived, many, many times. I know I go on a bit here.. but it becomes important later, it explains, or maybe it begins to explain a little of why things happened as they did. It's not an excuse.. but maybe someone will understand.

I had planned to go back there the next day and had been imagining to myself what I might say to invoke conversation if I saw him again. "So, did ye catch up with ye friend?" But from then on things started to snowball out of control. It was some weeks before I saw him next and under quite different circumstances.