Ballad Of Saymon

My Lord I'm sorry. My absence is and has been inexcusable. Fittingly, I don't have an excuse anyway. All I can say is that from now on I'm going to try to be a better writer, and actually write. So, for any of you who still read this, I hope you enjoy.

It was such a small thing. Specks of water vapor in the sea of her past abuses, so insignificant that they wasn’t even worthy of the name ‘drop’. There wasn’t even emotion enough in it to warrant her fear. It was little more than the casual slip of a hand. That little absent-minded push.

But it was enough to make her cold, enough to send the warmth of the air out of her lungs and start her shaking again. Outside of shivering she could find no better reaction than to walk.

This little thing, these little specks of water, was a reminder of who he was and what she was. Something that hung over her shoulders in his shadow’s place and whispered ‘You’re mine’ to her.

Before the water was in her eyes she had started to scold herself for crying. In her head she screamed and spat at the thought of her weakness. She needed to stop now. Masters didn’t like weak women, they want girls who smiled and begged. Not girls who squirmed and cried.

And women who were well liked lived the best lives.

The shouting continued, unwittingly ushering more tears, until she felt something warm and smooth slip over her shoulders. At first she thought it was his arm, that he couldn’t wait any longer and had to have her now. But as the thing encompassed all of her shoulders and moved still further down she lost that fantasy and looked to see what it was.

Long folds of black cloth poured down her, covering the custard colored skin with glossy waves of fabric. A tear rolled down her face, but the others were held back as she looked on. His voice came from behind, telling her to turn. Absently she complied, the garment swinging on her shoulders and almost falling from her.

His hands caught it before it could fall, and he pulled the cloak up to her shoulders again. It was grossly oversized. But Lila soon forgot this as she watched his hands work the threads that hung from the collar together. The black cords flicked here and there between red fingers, a knot forming and tightening before her eyes.

If he had said anything then she had lost it.

All she could think of it that moment was the redness of his hands. Not the color of blood, darker than that. But the color shifted, with every motion it changed. Brighter at this knuckle, while this one grew dark. The knot tightened, the cloak going slack against her shoulders but staying in place.

And his hands were gone, replaced by a voice that told her that this would help stop her shaking.

Warmth pressed against her, sinking into skin in the darkness of the cloak. She didn’t like this feeling, because it felt exactly like any other man’s cloak would. Why didn’t he get some special feeling, why did he have to share tangibility with other men? Better men.


Kyichi moved closer to her, seeing the way she swayed unevenly with exhaustion. Her eyes followed him deliriously, both seeming to be lost in sleepiness and thought. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and ushered her along, trying to judge her fatigue against the distance there still stood between them and her rooms.

He nearly pulled her the rest of the way, his hand curling around her arm to help her along. They passed through a long hallway that was lined on either side with doors, onto which numbers were painted in dark ink.

Finally they came to a door marked 51, and as Kyichi stopped Lila hung from his hand limply, her eyes on the floor. He opened the simple door, and ushered her inside, not entering himself. She stopped when he didn’t follow her and looked at him.

Her cheeks were lined with rivets of tears, her brows low and confused.

Kyichi’s hand found the doorknob and he leaned back into the hall. All he could offer her as explanation were the words ‘get some rest,’ before the door between them slipped closed.


Lila heard him hurry away, his feet tapping against the hard floor faster than they had before. Her head spun suddenly and she forgot to think about anything but her exhaustion.

She searched this new room for a place to lie down and was rewarded with the sight of a small bed. It was nothing but a mattress in a wooden frame but Lila’s heart lifted at the mere sight of it.

She fell onto her side on the mattress, curling so her knees pushed against her breasts. As her eyes fell shut she dreamed of a warm, handless darkness. She saw herself lying asleep, pale and curled against the mattress. For a time all she wanted was to watch herself sleep, knowing that was she did so she slipped ever closer towards Death.

There was no fear in her of dying, not even solemn resignation. She merely knew that she was close and accepted her morality.

When she felt a hand on her shoulder begin to push at her, Lila’s world went back to black as she slipped into her skin.

Her eyes opened after a moment and she saw a woman sitting over her.