I'm writing this at eight in the evening. Today has been a busy day. Small stupid things like chores and exhaustion got in the way of doing much writing. With some help from Beloved, I now have the laptop computer set up so that I don't have to unplug it whenever we need a fan in the window. I'm going to try my hand at writing something creative based on the playlist I'm listening to. (The tracks are: The theme from Harry's Game, Lady Marian, and The Fairy Queen from Clannad, as well as Pax Deorum from Enya.)
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I smell her perfume on the wind and I'm set at ease. I know her. I know her better than any but not yet well enough to say I know her completely despite how many lifetimes we have been tied together in some bond. She is the one that my wolf pursues. She is the mate that calls to me in the night. We are one soul in two bodies. But, still, there are mysteries that my Brunhilde holds in this life that I would unravel. I know not why she cries out in the night. There are things she speaks of in her sleep that she never acknowledges.
I have tried to urge her to unburden her heart to me but to no avail. I could command her to confess with the supernatural powers that are at my command but that would be cheating and she would consider it perfidy on some level in the lover's war between us. My patience, however, is growing thin. I would be content to let the mysteries lie if they did not eat at her soul.
My Green Maiden withers slowly as she struggles with her inner demons. Her eyes that were once so bright with laughter or fury now are brightened with unshed tears at random times that make no sense. Someone has wounded her in such a manner that she has not yet healed from it despite the fact that she bears no mark upon her breast, they have verily struck her heart and smote it in twain.
I would kill the person who did so a thousand times over for the crime if I had the power. I think, however, she would interceed for mercy upon them. My Green Maiden is of a tender heart and loves deeply and freely. She would protect those whom she loves with her last breath. It is something I admire deeply about her. At the same time, this self same love can be twisted and abused by some vile creature to make themselves a harbor against rage and fury.
I know that this is possible. Some would have accused me of doing the same in the harsh games we play. Little do they know that the only place where she finds true bliss is in the rush of combat. Be it amorous combat or the game of arms, the Green Maiden is not at peace except when in action. This is why she can not sit still. Her spinning wheel hums a song as she works in her office, spinning thread blindly as she reads reports. Her hands are ceaselessly in action. Knitting, crochet, lace making, or weaving, my wife is always at some manner of work. When not doing that, she is gardening, cooking, or training. Somehow, she is always in a storm of action only to be still when she is asleep. But she does not sleep deeply, so she is not truly still.
Only when I exert the strange gifts that Awakening has given me can she be driven down into dreamless, deep sleep. I fear that my lovely girl is going mad.
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