by Sasjah Miller


It follows me, it claws at my soul, it eats its way into my heart. It turns everything that is true and befitting to the legacy of a Steward's son into something ugly and tainted.

Sometimes I see a shimmer of light, a shard of hope still shining through the pitchblack shroud wrapped tighter and tighter around me.

He stands there, half-turned away from me, proud, aloof. Damn him.

I reach out for him, hold him, but he is not there.

And as he walks away from me in anger the dogs of despair are closing in for the kill.

The End