He told at last who it’d been—the one who’d laughed—their coward’s grin. Something once she’d felt so true; this long-gone soldier lost in blue. His friend had thought themself some queen, not seeing how their shade would bring a darker pale then he’d adore, just one more privilege-burdened whore. This woman here was all he’d need—she’d be his heart—he’d be her steed. A loss was spoke of one who fell and laughed at sight of broken bells. The chum who’d done the worst of all; some bitch who’d kneel before the fall. They were a petty childish thing. This Goddess would not let them sing. That cunt had surely made a lie from misled magic shot up high. They thought themself a witch to be—that was not true, for it was me.
