Work Text:
I am afraid of giving this testimony.
Does it matter, that I'm afraid? Would it change your mind?
No.
Evidently not.
They say a wife cannot testify against a husband, there was a sentiment behind that law.
We were never married but that sentiment remains.
You are the cruel ones, for laying my heart upon the fire and forcing me to smell the meat cook as I turn the spit.
My heart was wrong.
My heart was treacherous, evil, wrong
But I cannot testify against it, can't you understand?
No, evidently not.
Go ahead, ask me if I saw the scarlet gleam in his eyes as he laid beside me in bed.
If it was a demon's breath tickling my neck as he ran his long fingers through my hair.
Ask me if I noticed every time he went missing, without word or warning (and the silent spectre that hung over us like smog disappeared with him).
If I wondered why he never took his watch off until the booth of the shower was steamed up and filled with spray
And even then, never for longer than a minute.
Ask me everything.
I have nothing and everything to hide.
We were never married, but we exchanged rings. I have mine right here.
Silver, can you see? Silver, with the smallest gems gleaming within
Fine as dust.
They'd looked yellow when he first proposed.
It was sunset, the stars were already shimmering in the sky.
They look like stars now, can you see?
Silver. Silver for truth.
Does it matter that he is witty?
He can make a joke out of the night sky.
He is charming, gracious, intelligent.
He loves me from the bottom of his heart.
I can tell by the way he makes my tea, creamy and sweet the way I like it.
Nine cubes of sugar melting into sludge in a china cup.
I can tell by the way he runs his hands over my body
As if I am something to be cherished
As if I am a spirit who could disappear in an instant, fog between his fingers.
Does it matter how gentle he is with me?
How thoughtful, how loving he can be?
Evidently not.
Does it matter that despite everything
We can still recognise each other in an instant.
Despite the blood that stains our hands
We can smile at a joke at the same time.
We can lean against the glass of his cage and press fingers
Remembering how it felt to intertwine hands on the roof,
to bump into each other in the kitchen,
to brush away each other's tears.
Does it matter that I still love him?