DAMIAN
She is right there in the darkness when I close my eyes, crying, waiting on me in that silk nightdress. What was a head full of curls is now matted with grease and decline.
Like the previous, I dash into our bedroom and skid to a halt when she turns away from the window. The stream of moonlight casts a deathly glow on her pale skin marred by self-inflicted bruises.
She takes measured steps towards me, muttering her discomfort about having to wait for hours to see me.
I apologize as I always do.
The meeting with the Seemya usually takes a lot of time so there's not much I can do about it.
She goes again on another bout of blame on why I always meet her at the wrong time. She has said this many times in the past whenever I’m a few minutes behind time.
What makes it different
