For Thy Peace, My Soul

42.

Beloved Tabitha. Your ruined, lifeless body finally taken from my constant, worried, worshipful gaze. You’ve been committed to the frozen ground. Hyacinths at your headstone - which marks nothing but your birth and death. Bedded down next to your infant brother in eternal sleep, your soul finally reunited in the expanding knot of wickedness embedded in my spirit.

I can hear your voice. I can see your face. If I close my eyes, I can touch the silky strands of your hair. The scent of your heady perfume lingering in my thoughts. A tragic, deplorable wraith of a girl. I could not have loved you more, though I thought to give you my never-ending torment and call you Heir.

No more.