When I found you, it was close to midnight. The tall grandfather clock had just chimed 12, actually. So it was in the middle of the night when you heard me. It could have been the middle of the day, and anyone could have come to the damsel that was me. But there was no one else around who could have. I do not know if you remember. I do not know if you care. But I still hang on to that thread that was love, and wait to see your eyes sparkle again. Like that time when you found me in my cottage, alone, sleeping in the woods. Well, not sleeping, because then I would not have needed you then. Or maybe I would have. You found me then. At my worst, reliving the nightmare that comes to me every night. Shrieking and writhing with terror, yes, that was when you found me. The thin white sheets lay regarded on the floor beside the bed, and there may have been some blood on the lace pillow, I cannot remember now. I know how bright the moon was that night, can remember the wolves howling in the darkness, their skinny bodies moaning for sustenance to hold them over till morning. They were starving, just like me. Whether for food, or something more, we were both of us alike. Then there was the wooden door, almost swung off its hinges, too, when you ran through to comfort me. You had not met me by then, but I know you had been watching me from afar, and I knew I wanted to talk to you, too. So there you were, heart pounding, I could feel it thumping through your thin collared shirt, matching rhythm with mine. Had my scream really carried that far, so the village could hear my terrified shrieks? I had no way of knowing at the time, nor did I know where you had been to have come to my aid in such a hurry. I know you had not been lurking by the window- I would have heard. You could have been roaming the forest, sleep-deprived like me. But then you had your strong arms around me, whispering in my ear, and- yes, you were prying something from my grip. These are the small details I can recall from the dustiest corner of my mind. I had not swept the floors since then, and the cobwebs still linger. It's your deep, rich, calm voice that is visited every day that I listen to in my mind, looking for some sort of luxury in my deserted home.
Oh yes, and then there was the knife.