A hand on the knob.
A figure on the balcony.
Another at the door.
Only one by morning.
A dagger at his hip.
A bottle in her hand.
Two glasses, one strike.
Door opens and he comes in.
She knew he would come.
He pulls his coat around the dagger.
He doesn't know she knows what they both know:
Only one by morning.
***
"The sky is beautiful," she says.
He agrees.
He's glad that the sky is beautiful tonight.
There will only be one by morning.
"Sit," she says.
He does.
She pours liquid from the bottle into the glasses.
He takes one and leans back. The sky is beautiful.
***
"You have your orders," she says.
It isn't a question.
Simply a statement of what they both know.
He agrees. He has his orders.
She doesn't ask what his orders are. She knows that there will only be one by morning.
"I'll miss you," he says. It's the first thing he has said since he entered.
"I doubt that," she says.
He lifts the glass to his lips and wishes that things were different.
She wishes things were different.
But he has his orders.
There can only be one by morning.
Regret.
***
He stares into the dark blue sky.
The waning moon has risen.
It's beautiful.
"You'll think of me," she says after awhile.
She has to know that he'll think of her.
It will make it easier.
"Of course," he says.
How could he not?
He wonders if the guilt of the thing will consume him.
It will be difficult, she thinks.
She wonders what it feels like.
She hopes that it doesn't hurt.
She prays it will be easy.
***
Hands connecting in the darkness.
The only light is the waning moon.
The moon is dying.
There's no one in the garden below.
She arranged it that way.
It will make it easier for both of them.
She kisses him.
He isn't surprised.
"It's getting late," she observes.
He agrees.
They go to bed.
Neither sleeps.
He's too guilty.
She is wondering if it will hurt.
***
There's only one in the morning.
She sits up in the bed when she hears his breathing still.
She hopes it didn't hurt.
She doesn't mind much if it did.
She dresses and takes his dagger.
He doesn't need it anymore.
Neither needed a dagger.
She hides the bottle and glasses beneath the bed.
The vial in her bag.
She kisses his forehead.
There's no point feeling guilty.
Besides, more than one person can have orders.
A figure on the balcony.
Another at the door.
Only one by morning.
A dagger at his hip.
A bottle in her hand.
Two glasses, one strike.
Door opens and he comes in.
She knew he would come.
He pulls his coat around the dagger.
He doesn't know she knows what they both know:
Only one by morning.
***
"The sky is beautiful," she says.
He agrees.
He's glad that the sky is beautiful tonight.
There will only be one by morning.
"Sit," she says.
He does.
She pours liquid from the bottle into the glasses.
He takes one and leans back. The sky is beautiful.
***
"You have your orders," she says.
It isn't a question.
Simply a statement of what they both know.
He agrees. He has his orders.
She doesn't ask what his orders are. She knows that there will only be one by morning.
"I'll miss you," he says. It's the first thing he has said since he entered.
"I doubt that," she says.
He lifts the glass to his lips and wishes that things were different.
She wishes things were different.
But he has his orders.
There can only be one by morning.
Regret.
***
He stares into the dark blue sky.
The waning moon has risen.
It's beautiful.
"You'll think of me," she says after awhile.
She has to know that he'll think of her.
It will make it easier.
"Of course," he says.
How could he not?
He wonders if the guilt of the thing will consume him.
It will be difficult, she thinks.
She wonders what it feels like.
She hopes that it doesn't hurt.
She prays it will be easy.
***
Hands connecting in the darkness.
The only light is the waning moon.
The moon is dying.
There's no one in the garden below.
She arranged it that way.
It will make it easier for both of them.
She kisses him.
He isn't surprised.
"It's getting late," she observes.
He agrees.
They go to bed.
Neither sleeps.
He's too guilty.
She is wondering if it will hurt.
***
There's only one in the morning.
She sits up in the bed when she hears his breathing still.
She hopes it didn't hurt.
She doesn't mind much if it did.
She dresses and takes his dagger.
He doesn't need it anymore.
Neither needed a dagger.
She hides the bottle and glasses beneath the bed.
The vial in her bag.
She kisses his forehead.
There's no point feeling guilty.
Besides, more than one person can have orders.