“What you were, is not a sign of who you should be.” She said, as she kissed the nose that had turned red due to the cold. Stroking the hair that stuck to the forehead with sweat, she held her breath, staring at closed eyelids, imagining the blue-green irises that lay underneath, unmoving, releasing it only when she had found the perfect words on her lips. “You mistook me for a lover. I was anything but one. I could not love you, or the likes of you. Betrayer, you call me. Helper, I respond. Helped you through your wounds, wounds that ignited pain deep within you when you were left alone. Alone, to rust and rot. Alone to die, wither like the leaves that had fallen off their trees, smeared with the brown of the earth like the blood on your torso, your arms that were cold and heavy with the scars of the ropes that cut into your flesh, and the blood that clotted on those, as it gave way to the festering and healing. I was your healer. And you have healed. I must take my leave.”
Rising, she disappeared amidst the smell of smoked candles and bloodied roses, as both crept up crawling up the air and mixed with the stench of love that lingered long after it was denied.