WEEK OF JUL 7 (fiction)
I had been going to the same bar every day for the past few weeks. Not to drown my sorrows—on the contrary, I found it comforting. "The Black Cat 1984." I’ll never forget that name.
Every time I went, there was always a woman there. Tall, slender, with the kind of hair you don’t forget. And every time I saw her, she was singing. Some songs were the usual bar tunes, but others sounded like they belonged on a stage, in a concert hall.
And of course, I had a favorite:
He walks where castles rise alone,
Through valleys lost, through moss and stone.
The forests whisper his hidden name,
Shadows flicker in his flame.
Stars once guided his steady hand,
Now he learns where humans stand.
Candles tremble as he passes by,
Magic hums and beauty sighs.
Stones remember each step he’s made,
Fields bow softly beneath his shade.
The Inkborn tell his story wrong,
Hollow knights hum a bitter song.
Ruins breathe beneath the green-lit sky,
His footsteps echo; centuries sigh.
Solmaera holds him in its quiet refrain,
A wanderer dreaming of stars again.
It reads strange on paper, but the way she sings it—I would give my soul just to hear it one last time.
One last time?
Yes. One last time. She hasn’t come back. Not for a week and a half. I wouldn’t automatically worry—maybe she’s taking a break, maybe visiting family—but the rumors say she went to explore the ruins.
And when you explore the ruins, there’s no coming back.
The bar without her feels different. Fewer people come. It’s quieter. Her seat is left empty, avoided. I know it’s silly to be so worked up over a song, but...
...I’m almost certain that song was about me.