hot as
molten iron,
rolled
down his face.
One
by one
by one.
He pushed
a shaking hand
through his
long hair,
dark and brown
as stained oak.
A ring on
his hand
and a ring in
his pointed ear
clinked together,
and he thought
of ripping out
the latter.
Eyes the shade
of unripened
grapes
streamed more iron
down the cheeks,
spoiling the
handsome features.
The man,
the Fae,
glared at the
world
through his tears.
He smelled their
salt
and tasted blood
as his teeth,
sharper than yours and
sharper than mine,
sank into his
livid tongue.
Grief and
Rage and
Hurt
took their turns
overpowering him,
and they fought
for dominance.
He cried,
and he bled,
and he
poured out his
loss
'til the
world was gone
and he was
hollow
and dust.
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