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[onefellswoop]

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[onefellswoop]

Where did he How did he Ah, but of course he had them, it’s only right, I

Yes.

Familiar. Yes, I—

My Love.

It was always your ring.

They were always meant to bind us.

My relief is How in fuck’s name did I ever think I might have crafted one for her, I

[ … ]

That was my worry, yes. That I [ … ] had forged those rings for a hand that wasn’t yours. That some slip of fate had bound that woman to myself, and that I had been fool enough to pledge myself to [ … ] some measure of her existence.

Viewed from a distance, the assumption makes no kind of sense. What was she that I could ever want, or - speaking on more likely terms - what good could have come from a contract that required her hand, her marriage?

[ … ]

I become [ … ] painfully erratic in your absence, my Puppy. I worry overmuch; I misreads signs as hazards and [ … ] the conclusions I draw don’t sort themselves to sense.

What did she do

[ … ]

I call this proof, yes, Dearest.

And husband or not, husband and not, I am your mate through all. I do stick to you, and with you; I always shall.

Even erasure of memory couldn’t keep us torn forever, hm? Our love was only waiting; our rings were always waiting.

Kept in sanctuary by our pup.

[ ... ]

I'd like my ring, someday. When the time feels right for you.

I'd like to see your nestled on your finger, where it always should have been.