And I was a Dame who fancied herself well versed in the ways of the world and of people
I had seen so much of the ugliness of the world and I believed myself schooled
When I met him, he asked about my scars with so much concern
After so much ugliness, finally someone with compassion
He took my hand and whispered “share with me, your pain is my own “
So I told tales, with each story I told, he took the words from my mouth and made a beautiful blade
It was quite an assortment of daggers when I was finished
“hideous” he whispered under his breath, not looking in my eyes
I fumbled to cover my scars “t-they’ll start to heal now that they are in the open” I said “it is what they say” a plea
And then finally he looked me in the eye and picked up the first dagger. Eyes on mine, he drove it into my heart
And then the next, and the next till there was none