She poked the embers, wishing the heat would touch the icy chill that had lodged its tendrils deep in her chest.
“This is the reason I wanted to become strong,” she told the flames. “A hunting knife to cut out their murderous hearts, and a quiver of arrows to protect me.” Drawing a steadying breath, she continued, “I half-wonder if I’d been in possession of one then, would I have been tempted to fall on it afterward.”
You call me perfect but I’m not. I am broken, beaten, battered shattered in a million pieces. Sure, I sparkle I’ll be your night sky but, I am rough around the edges ~sharp like a knife~ Kiss me, hold me mold me, love me I’ll be your reflection your light in the dark render me
He sat with the sealskin folded in his grip, idly rubbing it with a thumb as it rested in his lap.
He remembered the day it fell into his possession ~ still clear and sharp in his mind’s eye ~ the gentle sway of her hips, the nuanced play of her hair on the sea breeze, her lithe, supple body erect before him.
Time… had not been kind.