He was born in the night.
While his father’s sword flashed and the fury of its steel rang over distant battlefields.
She held him and her hands trembled. Tears tumbled over soft cheeks and pearls of sweat shook and clung to her arched neck.
Silent, she listened to the whispers that called to her, soft and low, over the babe crying in her arms. Her face shone deathly white in the candlelight, draining her soul’s bright fire of its warmth.
Only her eyes glittered now. Deep and dark, full of candlelight and love. Then they too were vanquished and closed one final time.
And so the child, which they named Tristan, was born in darkness and in sorrow.
Trust only the night
Recent Comments