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DISCLAIMER: Xena and Gabrielle are not mine. Perdicas isn't mine. I didn't make them. It took a lot of people a lot of time to make them. They belong to those people, the great folks at Renaissance Pictures and belong to MCA, Universal, and Studios USA. I'm just borrowing them.
SUBTEXT: Yes, but it's quite friendly.
WARNING: This story is mine. It's mine, dammit. Though I can't copywrite it because I don't have the rights from the previously mentioned corporations, I have sent it to myself by certified mail and have it, unopened, in my desk postmarked 3-27-99. So, I can sue your leather clad butt off if you steal.
-SJ Bross (bacchaeblood@lycosmail.com)
TIME
There is one who knows me,
loves me, owns me
One who fills me with such passion
that my being becomes hers
She is so dark, and capable of such light
So strong, and her will is stronger
Yet so gentle with me
If one could ever know the warmth she posseses
they'd see it, too
See the attraction,
the desire, the lust
who could ever know that a young bard seeking adventure could find the second half of herself in the stranger she swore to trust?
Through the loss, through the hatred,
the shimmer of a blinding light never went out.
They say the loss of a child is the worst you can feel.
but the loss of a part of your soul is a far worse pain.
I should know.
I always knew, always know, that she's a part of me
She's so beautiful, so perfect.
She lies across the fire, the flames flickering in front of her back.
She's lost in a dream, away from here, and doesn't hear my quill scratching.
Or at least she pretends not to.
We held each other earlier.
Too tired for any thing more, too gentle to step that line.
Comfort lies in her arms, home in her chest...
Elysian fields in her lips.
If I had stayed in Potedaia,
I'd still be innocent.
Perdicas would be alive, would be my husband.
I'd have children by my own will, never to be taken from me, never to turn on me.
I'd still be innocent.
And yet...if I were there again;
if the choice were there, two paths before me
I'd take her's
It's late, and I'm tired.
I'd best stop my writing.
The night is cool.
I'll curl up beside her, where I belong
and sleep under a fur.
It's where I belong.
It's my perfect life.
THE END
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