Rings like chains wrap around fingers too soft to know the hardship of love and loyalty; of war and betrayal. She is dressed in a gown of white; lilies adorn hair too clean to have ever been stained with blood and gore. She is smiling. She is beautiful. It is her wedding day.
It is a happy day.
She walks down a long hall to approach her betrothed. His back is to her. The seat are empty. It is their wedding day. Where is her family? He is waiting for her. The seats are empty. Where is her mother? He is not turning around. The seats are empty. Where is her father? Her dress is fraying. The sun is set. The flowers are dead. The altar is bare. The seats are empty. It is not a dress at all; it is armor. The seats are empty. The seats are empty.
The seats are empty the seats are empty the seats are empty the seats are empty the seats-
She is kneeling now. Her hand grips tightly the hilt of a sword. Her hand is bare of any ring. Her heart is bare of any betrothal. She has sworn her fealty to one love. To one life.
To the blade, to the blade, to the blade.
To the Host Palantine.
To Cardanith; to the Shadow and back.
