Six thirty five, and still pitch black. Street lamps and head lights flicker as the world wakes up before the sun does. Of course, I am peering out a western window, so silvery strands of light are beginning to blink into being behind me as I am lost in my thoughts.

"See? No dawn. Even she's afraid to peak her head out in this damned cold." The devil chortled, either to me, himself, or the air between us.

"Being delayed isn't the same as not coming at all, you know. It's late, but she'll come, as she always has. There are some things in this world that will always just be. But there is nothing you can set your watch by."

"Least of all the stars." He dropped his head and raised his heart to his heart; whether it was in mock sorrow or genuine rumination, I wouldn't ever venture a guess. After all, it wouldn't be my place.

Only eight more weeks of mornings like these.

"After a while, Trism managed to say, 'Are you sure you can fly in this condition?'
'What condition is that? I've been in this condition my whole life,' Liir answered. 'It's the only condition I know. Bitter love, loneliness, contempt for corruption, blind hope. It's where I live. A permanent state of bereavement. This is nothing new.'"

Destroy Once Done