MEADOWS OF THORN

broken

the taste suddenly turned salty and warm

Then did he realised

She had been weeping

She wept and wept

Rubbing her eyes from both of her hand.

She looked a child lost without parents and weeping and weeping.

He took her in his arms guilty from his action

His heart throbbed and he was so angry at himself for making his linda cry

" I am sorry, I am sorry"

She sobbed in his arms until she slept

He repeated the three words like tha mantra

Until she slept, he caressed her eyes that had grown swollen with weeping.

He swallowed both his guilt and his desires, and once more pressed a kiss to her lids.

He had not considered what she wanted, nor what thoughts weighed upon her mind.

Did he act only to prove that a brother would never do such a thing?

Or was he so impatient that he shattered a soul not yet mended?

He watched her the whole night — watched her shrink into herself and gasp for air.

She was gripped by nightmares, and it was no less a nightmare for him.

Why did I do it? It was not necessary. He had wished to tell her of his want, his desire, his love — yet he… he had broken her again. Once more.

It may have seemed a mere kiss to him.

But to her, she was being sold and tossed about like an epiphany made flesh — an object, a tool, a machine not yet reduced to tarnish.

She sobbed again and again, until he gathered her into his embrace. He kissed her brow and held her tightly, lying beside her.

Soon enough, the sun rose to its fullest.

Her eyes stung as she opened them to find Zachary seated before her, reading the newspaper.

At last, he looked upon her.

Confused, startled, and terrified, she glanced at herself, then at him.

No words came to her tongue. She sat in silence, then bowed her head.

At length he stood, approached her, set his paper upon the table, and sat beside her. Sweat beaded upon her cheeks.

“Linda,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

Was this the first time he had spoken her name?

“Uhh, ye… yes,” she answered, swallowing hard. The gooseflesh upon her arms was plain to see.

“I apologise for last night.”

“Ahh— no, no, it is alright. I apologise for… for ruining your mood, Sir… Knight. Please, do not complain of me to anyone.”

She stuttered the words.

He stared at her, bewildered. His jaw clenched so fiercely it might have snapped, had he not mastered himself.

His veins stood stark upon his hands. His rage was not for her, but for himself.

“What makes you say that? To whom would I complain?” he asked, in the gentlest voice he possessed. “Look at me.”

“I am sorry.”

She would not raise her head; it remained bowed.

He would have stayed, would have explained, but duty called — the Crown Prince had summoned him on urgent business. And so he departed, the words unspoken.