His armor should have chafed. It used too, back during a
time when things were simpler, clearer.
Without realizing it, Stavross had actually gotten used to
the discomfort. Now that it was gone, an ironic sense of melancholy had settled
over his soul. The oddly uncomfortable had become the strangely consoling.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Myrna could read his mind. A trait in exceptional women,
he’d noticed. Stav’s mother had always seemed to know what he was thinking, and
she was exceptional indeed. Until he met Myrna, Stavross had chalked it up to
matronly wisdom.
“I don’t want to be used to it,” Stavross replied. “I just
want to go home.”
Stav peered out over the balcony to wide green fields behind
a rocky chain of hills.
Myrna drew up beside him.
“I know.”
“But this is home now, isn’t it?” Stavross asked.
Myra’s silence answered quite succinctly.
Heavy weights of a king’s burden pulled his shoulders down.
“We are the chosen ones.” Stavross stated flatly, in a
statement of neither question or fact. “Aren’t we?”
After a moment of reflection on the landscape around them,
Stavross turned to his love. Deep eyes conveyed the true sorrow in his mind,
and the devotion of his heart.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Myrna replied, seeing in his eyes the depth of
his emotions. “I’m still glad to be with you.”
Stav’s eyes went wide.
“Really? Even if it is the end?”
“Even if it’s the very end, my love.”
Written by:
Throw me a like on FB if you dare!
No comments:
Post a Comment