poor little widow to be

Those that patronize the physician's 'shop' come in a variety of flavors and colors like candy. Within the wrappers holds delicious little treats just waiting to be devoured.

Detre was one of the copper bit kind, you can get a whole bag of them for next to nothing. He was a kanda junkie. As thin as a satarna straw from selling everything he had for 'one more fix'. He would beg, brrow or steal for his habit and more often than not it was the latter. You could find him in the alleys barebacking wealthy magistrates who wanted something scandalously different.

Twitching, ticking, constantly scratching at the imaginary itches that seemed to infest his frail body, he had come in just before midday. No sooner than the door had eased behind him he had drawn out his silver ladle and flint striker. Sorticles was livid, grabbing him by the scuff of the neck like a gianni to toss him back into the street. Not however before he relieved the boy of his coin and tucked a new packet into the small pocket beneath his belt.

The scenario almost ran Lady Olivieta over when she arrived. Poor dear, she's had such a difficult time of things as it is. She was a three time widow, king's rest their souls. The first had taken a tumble from his tarn. Broken strap on the saddle and all. Had it waited a few moments more before it snapped he would have died instantly, instead he had lived shattered for almost two hands. The second and third mates expired under more mysterious circumstances. One choking on his own tongue, perhaps an allergic reaction to something he ate. The other seemed to have a latent respiratory disorder. He stopped breathing in the middle of the night. And now her latest mate was suffering from a spell of sleep apnea. It seemed neither could find peace in slumbers. Lady Olivieta had come for a sleeping potion. Such a worrisome little thing, she plied the healer with questions. How much is safe to give without worry of overdose? One? Ahh then she would take three, one never knew if it could get lost or one of the staff pilfer a packet.

I'd asked if she needed anything else. It was a petulant little sigh that came with the request. I was such a graceful little pretty. He would so enjoy having me serve tea.

sentiment rompu

compassion severed at its core
there is no remorse
watching the writhe of the last breath
breathed in rattling gasp
there is no ear for the whimpering
pleas to fall upon
no change of destiny
that will suddenly wake you
from your mare
make you inhale sharply
with quiet whispers
it was only a dream
it was only a dream
no fingertips response
that finds or offers mercy
along the life flow in an artery
only curiosity if it will bleed
as prettily as the one before
just a rhthym of pulse
a lullaby so maddeningly soothing
that I wish it to stop
the thundering
and the final snap
that brings silence with it
and peace
~hers