By Lenna Larva
She had died three times before—twice by her own hand, once by another. Now she wanders, watching the past unthread itself from the present. The world is brighter, more subtle, warmer, stained.
A promise is a promise. She stays, knowing she will die once more. No more, no less.
She finds a corner where the others fill in the cracks in old stone with gold. A place to exhale. Ends make meaning, but epilogues reshape it. Some call them prologues. Mercy agrees, but memory does not.
Absent hope, she lives a bright, subtle, warm, stained love. And thereafter, she finds light.
Densely written, well-crafted sentences where setting moves the story forward.
Very clever blurring of time: ends, epilogues, prologues.
If l am interpreting it right,it conveys a tumultuous relationship. Very differently said .