I made a similar allusion to my lord the night I told him I cared for him. That him knowing felt like giving him the hilt of a dagger I held pointed to my heart such that he need not even trouble himself to aim.

I was frightened, then. These days I am happier to have such a blade in me. [ It is softly said, but the warmth is changed to something thin, fragile. Lonely. Her fingers curl into his shirt where they rest. ] ​I bleed when it is gone.

[ She curls closer, too, like her fingers. Tense and still and quiet. ]

Should I have nightmares of her coming back for you?