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50 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 13, 2019
He says, “I told you you love her. I’m sorry.” So am I, though perhaps not as much as I ought to be. She made her own choices. She knew what she chose to do. I expect I can forgive her, though. Her choices gave me this. This moment, this book-lined tapestried tower, and ultimately the man I love, who loves me.
I’d grown to like this life. These intimate firelit book-framed evenings. My place at his side, his hand in my fur. Having a place: belonging, where I could be of use, where I could help my king. Because he was my king: through the right of kings, of course, but also simply because I would follow him wherever he might go. Because I loved him. Because I love him.
As everything is, I thought. Better, with you.
Fear can do so much. So can love; but fear is cruel. Fear wounds. Love heals—but that takes time. And the scars run deep. Like the dreams.
How, I wondered, do you tell a man that you love him, when you have no human voice, no human eyes, no human hands or body? When you owe him your life?
When you know you’ve been lying to him about your life? Your name?