inksthewriter

countless peasants who mourn the loss of our king gather for his burial, tear-stained and sobbing of the absence of a great man. the lady stands alone, the last of ...

the king is dead… long live the queen. months passed of this cruel lingering, as the king struggled between life and death, until his soul surrendered, and his body that ...

upon the prince’s arrival, he is met by a grand procession, as we humble servants are stationed at the citadel gates to greet him. a feast is held in his ...

studies have become quiet— briefly filled by my insights, as i occupy my thoughts by the sacred teachings as though it alone could sustain me. my figure wanes, engulfed by ...

i thought perhaps— am i truly a fool? not once did she ever— worthy… of her love? am i? no— please let me believe… i must have mistaken her intentions ...

i think about her question often through the night, for what reply was she hoping to receive? it leaves me perplexed, and i would rather it remain this way, for ...

2001

during one quiet morn, whilst i was engrossed in guiding the Lady Elvy in her studies of the sacred texts— she appeared lost in one of those secret thoughts, and ...

ages pass, and my connection with the princess, that was once a forbidden attachment, is now a formal agreement, plagued with moments i cling to with a crooked heart. i ...

seeing her veiled face, tight-lipped and cordial to greet me at my arrival, and having to pay my respect with a half-hearted smile, squeezed my tender heart into a shape ...

i am a fool, yet are we not made to be thus? through the wrestle of soul and flesh, time continues to fade as all things shall. passings become months, ...

i need the air for my illness… my lungs are weak from coughing fits that seized me through the night— the air would benefit my health… is that not what ...

my recovery is lingering, allowing me ample time to reflect on my words, without the strength to weep. i claimed that we were forbidden… though it were true, i could ...

over the summer i was seized by the claws of an illness. it began during the gathering, whilst uttering the morning prayers. the room had spun beneath me, as i ...

her appeal nearly shatters the pieces of my heart, and i scramble to gather the quiet constraint around me, and stave the rising sob. “my lady,” i begin, bowing my ...