She weeps against my shoulder, her small body shuddering with sobs. I do all I
can do to bring her comfort, which is to say, nothing; all I can do is hold her
to me against the darkness. If I ever find the one who did this to her, I will
not be merciful; there will be hell to pay. Her body is racked with the
hopeless, despairing cries of one who suddenly finds herself alone against the
world and has no idea what to do next. Except she is not alone now; I am here,
have always been, and will always be as long as I draw breath. I cradle her
against my chest, my own tears streaming silently down my face, wetting the
crown of her head. I weep with her and for her, for this woman who feels as
alone as a little girl abandoned by her loved ones. She has been cut open, her
heart ripped out, and left to die in the dirt. I stroke her hair and rock her
gently, whispering my love to her while she cries. She moans in her pain,
doubled over by grief, clinging to me. She sobs, brokenly, telling me that her
life is hopeless and that she is alone, so alone. I push her away from my
chest, gently, and lift her chin to meet her eyes. I make her look straight at
me, and I look into those gray eyes, reddened with grief, and I tell her that
she is never alone while I live. She nods, and I kiss her forehead and pull
her back into my arms, where she soaks my shirt once again with her tears.
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