He was him and that was that. All the girl—there’d been a spat. No chance her heart a seeing stone—twas with her guilt she’d built a throne. Deep inside she’d know the lie. She fought and screamed and bled and cried. Visions bore with pricks and prongs would be forgotten as the ponds. Eternal lakes covered in moss, shown forth to come, borne something lost. Regardless it would see the day—that hardest wall which she could slay—she’d asked it thrice and it was set. Her cruelest test; unlike the rest.
