Sybil sat there, caparisoned like a tournament horse, playing with a slice of over-done venison and staring at the back of his neck. I thought of telling her that’s mostly what she would see of him. The back of his neck as he plans some journey or the back of him as he rides away…
Maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t get it. It’s better that she’s so blind, so thick and so uncaring that it matters little whether there will be an ounce of beauty when she comes.
It might have been better if he had stayed, but subconsciously, even he knows that the only way to retain his sanity is to flee from her presence- as soon as he can.
5 comments:
Sounds good; where's it from?
ur colour choice stinks .... i cant read it - it blends in too much
u have no imagination daggz!!!
is the text meant to be green?...
did u write it? its great!!
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