The Poet's Poison

Previously

…Elara looked at their joined hands, at the warmth that flowed between them, a different kind of warmth than the one offered by the mug. It was real. It was grounding. It was a beacon in the encroaching shadows. The journey ahead would be long, and undoubtedly fraught with pain, but for the first time in a long time, Elara felt a flicker of something akin to hope. The muse might be distant, but perhaps, just perhaps, she was waiting for Elara to find her way back, not through a haze of numbing herbs, but through the fierce, untamed landscape of her own resilient heart. The ink, she realized, didn't have to bleed darkness; it could, with time and courage, learn to shine.