Always it seems we come back to this,
a moment of loss, in an avoided kiss,
always rehash the moves unmade,
the fatal flaw in the roles we played,
always these things come back to mind,
as it all crumbles, and we run out of time,
always I wonder what might have been,
had I not stepped away, from you my friend.
– unattributed, circa 210 E.R.
Laeur 18th, 655 E.R.
“Hey goldie,” said a man outside a jail cell, banging on the bars with his boot. “You’ve got friends, come to vouch for you, and put down money for your release.”
Liora just laid there, an arm over her eyes.
The jailer banged on the bars a few more times.
“I don’t have friends, so I’ll stay right where I am, thank you.”Continue reading “Chapter III:37”