I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet I am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate,
I am and I am not, I freeze and yet I am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.
Queen Elizabeth 1 (1533 to 1605) in On Monsieur’s Departure
Ira woke up in a strange place. It looked like a bedroom but was dimly lit and threadbare. Seemed a little cold in temperature, but the dread that was settling in her chest had nothing to do with the temperature. The room had the lingering scent of Sage in it, the same scent that had distracted her. The bed she was on wasn’t very comfortable but it was a bed nonetheless. Her white sheets and pillows smelled like Sage too.
A bedside t
