Venice Craven

I, and thou; our hands meet and a world engendered.

I tried to give words to it today, how it is. How it was and how it will be, but I fear they failed miserably. I think though that he caught a glimpse of it. It is the first time I had spoken of it in that manner with another and a small weight lifted with it's telling.

It was like it always is at the wake. His presence had not been wholly unexpected, I saw the signature on the list. And for that, I took some care in my appearance, though my mind had been distracted by events the prior day. I used concealing make up to hide the bruises (bought for me at a high price by Taliesin back in a time when my scars bothered me more), though by the end of the day, much of it had rubbed off on the black cloths.

He was like a lodestone for my eyes. I cannot help myself when he is near, akin to a migrating bird, or a newborn turtle instinctively guided. And doomed. It will be the death of me-- no wait, it already has.