her languid face stirs slowly from its lines and within it harbours an echo of alarm as the thoughts like distant thunderstorm that rises on the sky awaken within her
fleeting moments chase each other across her eye each one bearing the weight of meaning a little further than the last until the final one gasping and sweating it lay its burden to a fitful rest on the doorpost of her denials like a blood stained accusation like a scarlet letter
she greases her hands to the task and works muscle and bone against the tide but it is a idea birthed in folly it is a concept of true lies
harrowing tales regaled around table of men who strove and men who wept thouse who slipped benith the waves with desperate plea sent forth having failed and thouse who triumph plays over and over in old age's eye but none were ever told that did not bear her tainted signature ink and sweat in fine carved lines on her dusty limbs
she now sees that she too must one day face fates indifferent game must one day choose and risk all at the hand of chance
her hands greased to the task her true lies shatter resistance break stone tales to regale tonight of the maidens ink and sweat delicate lines on her ***** dusty limbs