OF ASH AND GLITTER

She enjoys watching him work the room, mesmerizing every soft touch; women, men, even cats if they happen to walk in. She likes to see him try his best — not hers. The precious smile that turns to something else in his eye. Glitter, covering every word until it fades to nothing. She doesn't do glitter. Her skin carries ash from battles, triaging souls to Valhalla and damning the rest. There are so many ramparts around her heart that most believe it can't be found. She wouldn't have it any other way. Her face is a ghost mask that reveals nothing, her words too terse for society. Solitude has always meant respite. And yet, she likes to watch him work the room.