Chapter 31
Darkness is My Loyal,Trusted Friend
The dust motes danced in the slivers of light that dared to penetrate the heavy velvet draperies, silent partners in Amy Kathryn Allen’s solitary waltz with memory. Her study, a sanctuary and a tomb, was a testament to a life lived largely within its shadowed embrace. Stacks of loose papers, each a vessel of raw emotion, lay scattered across the dark wood of her desk, a daunting landscape of grief she was finally beginning to chart. The scent of aged paper, dried ink, and the faint, melancholic perfume of forgotten flowers hung heavy in the air, a perfume of sorrow she had long since made her own.
She reached for a particularly worn sheaf, its edges softened by countless touches. As her pale fingers traced the faded ink, a poem bloomed in her mind, a familiar ache blooming in her chest.
Beneath the moon’s wan, spectral gleam,
Where shadows weave a waking dream,
My soul, a raven, dark and deep,
Doth secrets of the lost heart keep.
A love, a phantom, fair and frail,
Whose whisper rides the chilling gale,
A beauty born of final breath,
Forever bound to icy death.
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