He was, for a time. I might speak of it easier, were he not.
But in our exile, he grew cold, cruel and joyless. I thought that I had surely done something wrong. The truth of it was that I was only ever a trophy to him once I came of age. Something to be paraded, bought and sold.
And yet, I was the only one left in the world who loved him.
no subject
I might speak of it easier, were he not.
But in our exile, he grew cold, cruel and joyless.
I thought that I had surely done something wrong.
The truth of it was that I was only ever a trophy to him once I came of age.
Something to be paraded, bought and sold.
And yet, I was the only one left in the world who loved him.