We were born into a world

that burns what it cannot keep

that takes the tenderest thing

and feeds it to the feast

We loved with open hands

in a market full of sport

they weighed our love in laughter

and the…

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and let the cold come in

I did not reach for what numbs the nerve

or dims the fire again

There is a light above the ache

too bright to name or hold

I will not trade it for a cro…

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I fed myself to the fire
poured my rot into the flame
watched my lesser self dissolve
into smoke without a name


I did not burn to be worthy
I burned because I had to
and when the ash remembered how…

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I tore it open with both hands
the trembling sheath, the locked and buried door
my knuckles split against the shell
I did not stop, I could not stop, I tore

I chose this storm
I purchased every wound

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The field stretcheth black beneath a moon that hath forgotten how to shine. Torches gutter in the distance like the last breaths of dying men. From the castle drifteth faint laughter — drunken, careless, obscene against the silence of the slain.

The Queen walketh among the fallen. Her gown, once crimson, now beareth the darker stain of other men’s wounds. She weepeth not; she hath wept enough for seven lifetimes. Needle and thread gleam wet with the labour of mercy — plain instruments that do what thrones delay: they draw flesh together where clamour hath failed.

She stoppeth before a mighty shield; behind it a knight lieth motionless — his breath shallow, his eyes open yet seeing nothing.

---

QUEEN**(to the wounded at large, then lowering her voice):

"Quills of a thousand porcupines shall not weary the blade."

"This night my needle drew shut an hundred gaping mouths of flesh; and boys who called for mothers long since turned to dust — their hands I held while yet prayer stirred in them."

*(She marketh a twitch — then stillness.)*

"And yet — there is one who heareth me, yet will not rise. One whose sword is clean, whose heart is not."

*(She kneeleth beside him, touching him not.)*

"I come to thee, not to rip thee up but to stitch thee back."

"Though I know thee, thou hidest thy face from the moon. Thou art the knight who laughed when arrows blackened the sky. Thou art the man who wept for a fallen horse, then named his next after it."

"Now thou art neither. Now thou art the hollow where courage went to die."

*(She waiteth; the body stirreth not.)*

"I bid thee not smile. I bid thee not a prayer. Even the Lord, I am told, once fell silent three days."

"But I will sit here, Paisi —"

*(She pauseth.)*

"Aye, I grew fond of that name — I will sit here with the carnage and the spoil, and I will not leave until thou rememberest that a wound stitched shut is still a wound."

*(She draweth a small, bloodied cloth from her sleeve and beginneth, slowly, to cleanse her own ornate sword — not as menace, but as one who tendeth steel the way others tend candles.)*

---

QUEEN**(murmuring):

"Thy sister sent a jest with a messenger. She asketh: What knight cannot laugh at a dung beetle rolling a king’s crown?"

"I thought it a poor jest. But I told it anyway."

"Alas, no dance on thy lips. So I shall tell no more. Only sit. Only breathe."

*(Far off, a cheer erupteth from the castle. The Queen flincheth — not from fear, but from the weight of what that cheer ignoreth.)*

"The King feasteth. The Queen keepeth vigil. That is our division, knight. And I am weary of it."

*(Beat.)*

"If death shall be the only honour thou seekest from the Lord, thou must rise and walk to meet it. Death shall not creep behind thy shield to find thee. Death hath better manners than the living."

*(Beat.)*

"Rise... Or do not. But know this: I lost a son in this most gruesome night. And I shall not lose another soul to silence. I still possess a thread, and more flesh to knead."

*(She standeth, turneth her back to him — a risk — and walketh two paces toward a groaning soldier.)*

KNIGHT**(from behind the shield, barely a whisper):

"I cannot... lift my limbs..."

*(The Queen stoppeth; she turneth not.)*

QUEEN:

"Then I shall lift them for thee. One finger at a time."





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living-night.ink

O Veil of a thousand tears,  

That cup’st them as water to pour forth assuagement,  

Soothing Her that stood beside a tree accurst  

And watched her beloved wither thorn by thorn,  

Breath by breath, til…

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Sample two…

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