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Tears.
That’s what’s running down my cheeks.
I thought I’d never cry because of my feelings, but my fate is marked by a misguided choice, by someone else’s failure.
It pulses on my forearm, unsettling.
It seems ready to tear my skin apart, yet it’s oddly smooth at the touch, oddly docile.
It’s fear what grows in me, freezing my veins.
I’d like to erase that indelible mark, I’d like to repudiate my ruthless Lord, but his menace is deadly.
Then, I freeze again.
It’s her gentle hand, and hope raises again.