Must you leave me in the coldest of seasons,
when all hope is lost,
and the loss of you might last a lifetime?
Oh, moonlit night when the stars cannot shine above us,
for the sky weeps in the absence of you?—
in frozen tears shed softly
to the soft skin of my cheeks,
where your kiss once lay, I perish with the thought
that you will never return to me.
There in the margin she wrote,
A bit dramatic, really.
I laughed again, flipping to the next poem I’d never noted.
the ease of my fingers through
your dark curls
begs me to forgive
this endless want
inside me.
Her script tore across the bottom of the page.
Are these the “dark curls” I think he’sreferring to?
I knew I loved her then.
One simple jest at a poem written in the language of love sealed any wonderings I’d had on my feelings towards the Ravenfae Goddess of Revelry. Previously infatuated, quickly obsessed, I recognized that something more had grown within me. And until I was dead, I’d be tormented with her presence, never resting, always filled with hunger for her.
With a smile that could not be doused, I laid back and read the notes of the woman who had captured my attention many years ago, and held the entirety of my cold heart in her warm hands.
CHAPTER 29
Reshina
Arthur was unwell.
It was clear by the stiffness in his shoulders—the edge in the way his jaw flexed as he chewed the braised beef Piffle had prepared with red wine and a melody of carrots, onion, and potatoes. He’d developed a tick since I’d seen him last—returning the book of poetry where I had annotated my thoughts alongside his.
He’d changed his clothes as I had mine, and each time I turned to look at him, his eyes would dart away with a sharp turn of his head.
“What bothers you, Arthur?” I asked, daintily slicing into a golden potato.
“You,” he answered in a clipped tone.
“Me? I’ve done nothing to?—”
