So wonderful I have requested a matching drabble for next week!
La Gloriosa Donna
She feels him poisoning her with every sphere they pass through.
This man - this bitter poet herded through the castles of the dead to make note of them, whom she had never met before this moment, stared at her like he could burn her onto his eyes, rhapsodised on her beauty.
I am as real to him as a painting, she thinks, and the thought rolls like a bezoar in her gut.
When she takes her place amidst the rose petals, she hopes that the same flame that burns this last poisonous thought out of her will incinerate him.
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