Solstice: Guest

by Sasjah Miller

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My husband-to-be offers Boromir the venison; he has to reach around the candelabra that stands between them to do so. The Man is engaged in conversation with his neighbour and has not yet noticed the dish being proffered to him. Aragorn's outstretched arm does not falter.

"Boromir."

The light of the candles dances across the silver platter's ancient design as Boromir takes the dish from him. I see him smile; Aragorn cannot because the flickering of the flames obscures his view.

Strong, calloused fingers cover the delicate leaves and flowers brought to life in ageless silver. Their hands never touch.

 

The End

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