February 7th, 2016

Old Temple, Rhy"Din City

Once more three in the morning found the sleepless wanderer strolling the city in search of? something. What was that something" Well, she didn't know. But her hands were tucked into the pockets of the same white peacoat she had donned the night before, the right hand fidgeting repeatedly with its contents. She was at home amongst the cathedrals of Old Temple so why was she so ill at ease"

It wasn't until she went to cross from Old Temple to the market district that she realized what she was looking for. Midway across the bridge, she came to a stop and turned her gaze out over the river. The flow of water beneath her feet made her uneasy, as water always did, but a tugging feeling in her gut told her she was exactly where she needed to be. Her hands, swaddled in plush white gloves, freed themselves from her pockets to wrap around the bridge's railing. Likely a safety rail installed after the bridge itself was built, it was less than a quarter's size in diameter and her fingers encircled it neatly with overlap to spare.

This was it. It was exactly what she needed.

Long ago, when she was young, she had loved a man. He was a rugged and brutish man but he knew how to make her smile even when she didn't want to. He said it was his favorite thing to do. She had loved him and because of this, he could never be hers. It was a reality that neither lovebird wanted to accept but after much ado, they resigned themselves to fate's cruel tricks. It was a painful parting when he took her to the bridge, their gloved hands interlaced tightly for what would be the last time.

He had etched their names on a simple lock, plain and silver, the inscription messy and hard to read against the metal. And this lock he latched to the latticework that served as a guard rail for the old bridge, deeming it a triumphant declaration of their undying love. Their names would be together there forever (or at least until the city cut their lock, and all of the others on the fence, off due to the strain it put on the bridge's integrity, of course).

This time around, she had a lock much like before, it too bearing letters etched in its surface. Her inscription was quite a bit neater though and rather than two names, it bore but a few letters.

S.C.L.

Stepping up to the bridge's edge and the aforementioned railing, she looped the shackle over and spun the body about face to realign them. A soft squeeze of her fingers reengaged the lock and she let go, leaving it dangling all by its lonesome. Dipping a white gloved hand into her pocket once more, she withdrew the matching key and without hesitation flicked it over the side of the bridge. Down below, the faintest of splashes could be heard and soon the current swept the little silver key away to the bay beyond.

Long ago, so very long ago now it seemed, such a thing was a symbol of eternal love. Now it was simply a physical symbolization of her desire to lock her own heart away. With the lock stuck on the rail and the key long lost to the river, she backed up from the edge and turned her back on the point, briskly finishing the trek across. February was cold but she felt nothing at all as she shouldered past a young couple going the opposite direction, missing as they paused at much the same spot she had to admire her handiwork.

By morning, four more locks had joined hers and by sunset, another seven, some inscribed, some blank, each bearing their own story that they'd likely never tell.