It was the lull,
the soundlessness.
The dull, numbing, lack.
It was the tear,
the falling curtain.
Certainly her sorrows
were worn in her eyes.
It was the horror,
the creeping doubt,
which held her still.
A mirror, cold and silent,
returned her stares,
with eyes not her own.
Sorrowed tears fall.
Hope was forlorn,
a concept lost.
She thinks it was of
her making.
He comes to rescue,
but is irrelevant,
rendered a nothing,
a mere footnote.
It was his joy,
the moving mouth
she gazed upon,
from which no sound
could escape,
that sent her from him.
Or him from her.
It was her sadness,
her burden,
and no one could
be allowed
to take it from her.
A Shadow's Embrace 