Bryony hated that feeling of unknowing.

Eventually, the silence was broken by a voice. It was familiar but not, its nature transformed by the melody that carried each word, a lilting, meandering song that had been a common refrain in Last Dawn, where she’d grown up. A song she’d not heard in years.

“The story of Glory is not oft told,

Her courage, time faded, but tis no less bold,

The evil concealed that which history lost,

Swept ’neath the rug, the river unforded, uncrossed.

“Glory they called her, twas more than her name,

For beaten and bruised, she cast off her shame,

Revealed her arms and her stomach laid bare,

The accused could no longer hide nor shrink from her stare.

“Her eyes remained dry, her tears long ago shed,

Her jaw raised and firm, no room left for dread,

The trails of blood, had long dried coppery red,

To remain silent one moment longer? She’d rather be dead.

“Her life was a book, and she’d not just turn a page,

She’d burn the damn thing to ash with the fires of her rage,

She did it for her, not herself, but another,

The child growing inside her, she’d soon be a mother.

“When none stepped forward to help her, she choked on a sob,

Cowards all, witnesses only, not a righteous mob,

He came forward to grab her, to strike her, to claim her again,

That’s when she revealed the dagger she’d secreted, beneath her cloak, hidden.

“Stabbed the blade forth, a true strike into his heart,

It wasn’t the end of her story, that woman named Glory,

No, it was only the beginning, just the start.”

The voice drifted away, allowing silence to reign once more. She opened her eyes, wondering where she was. She pushed aside that question, however, for there were more important matters to attend to. Ludo sat nearby, on the edge of the bed, his gaze angled away, as though searching the shadows for something only he understood well enough to even look for. His cheeks were rough with three days’ worth of stubble. His hair was unkempt, as though he’d been running his hands over his scalp incessantly. Those hands, however, were calm at the moment, resting dutifully in his lap as the song he’d sung so beautifully was lost forever in the wake of its own melody. This was the version of the man she’d clung to in the dark, stripped bare of ego and pretense.