From my novel, in progress . . .
Floating free. No poison pained my body. Floating alone. My arms could not hold you.
Pages you wrote to me turned before my eyes, revealing the ancient secrets. I penned my hopes and dreams into my notebook for you alone to read. If it could happen . . . to be pleasured daily by the touch of your soft skin, the smell of flowers in your hair, the light of love glowing within your eyes. I shut the journal, resolved to secure those tokens.
A light pulsated ahead, drawing me nearer. A dragonfly silhouetted. It spoke in a familiar old man's voice, “Heed my words, master. Across the sands of time, the first of three keys is held by your lady's lover.” His words trailed off, as the brilliance flared before me.
Was I not her lover? What riddle was meant? Illumination engulfed me, obliterating my reason. Only that question, repeating over and over, unanswered.
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