A skyline tore wide and angular where I watched it, from beneath the canopy of tents and marquee in the Square, and the sky poured, in zeal, in vibrant mid afternoon bright; no one could hide. I was standing with my mare and a coachman at the time when the dagger was slung into the crowd, to a certain back, and everyone stole away. The assassin shuffled back and ran to the left, followed by vagabond and authority alike. I stood dumbfounded, my gloved hand lifted to my lips and my tongue furling to retch. I tasted the cold horror and fled. I staggered into an alley, my coachman in pursuit, and he held me up as my guts made a hearty mess. I clung to him. I clung tightly, feeling his masculinity and compassion and generous spirit through all my taffeta and bustle and corset. At least, I imagined I did. It relieved me, that amorous inflection, and then terrified me, and I stole away and chittered up the pass, leaving him then dumbfounded!
I feel terrible. I was not watching. That was why the Lordship was struck. My eyes had wandered every so often to that lovely if brisk man, coachman Leyr, with his wide brimmed hat and gaunt haunting face. It makes me smile and even to shiver, just the thought...
My Lordship would be struck. Come arrow, for the bell tolled long ago his name. I'd hear such clamoured metal in my dreams. Sleeping in anxiety as I was, imagining that bulbous augural tongue swinging within the peal's hollow. It disappointed me, my intuition, or rather, I disappointed it, for rarely did I abide by it and choose it's door.
I turned in early, which is where I right this. The hotelier's staff have been most hospitable and have promised me this room should I need it longer than the tributary I paid in full. It is a contrast; how shockingly warm and how invitingly cool each person can be. That in each of us is the capability for the greatest achievement, of a humility, and too that of gout; striking the heart and having Men walk selfish and demanding, cruel and bitter.
No words can capture today. I had to write though, even if to relive the day over and know that if I could write of it, I could bear it.
I say goodnight. Tomorrow, I will leave for the next town. A short stay. I will wear the Red and carry the Staff of Xhazm.
I feel terrible. I was not watching. That was why the Lordship was struck. My eyes had wandered every so often to that lovely if brisk man, coachman Leyr, with his wide brimmed hat and gaunt haunting face. It makes me smile and even to shiver, just the thought...
My Lordship would be struck. Come arrow, for the bell tolled long ago his name. I'd hear such clamoured metal in my dreams. Sleeping in anxiety as I was, imagining that bulbous augural tongue swinging within the peal's hollow. It disappointed me, my intuition, or rather, I disappointed it, for rarely did I abide by it and choose it's door.
I turned in early, which is where I right this. The hotelier's staff have been most hospitable and have promised me this room should I need it longer than the tributary I paid in full. It is a contrast; how shockingly warm and how invitingly cool each person can be. That in each of us is the capability for the greatest achievement, of a humility, and too that of gout; striking the heart and having Men walk selfish and demanding, cruel and bitter.
No words can capture today. I had to write though, even if to relive the day over and know that if I could write of it, I could bear it.
I say goodnight. Tomorrow, I will leave for the next town. A short stay. I will wear the Red and carry the Staff of Xhazm.