She bowed to him happily, handing over her honor
like a cloak she would never wear again, to a stranger
who stroked her hunger until it bloomed across her skin,
He deceived her, but his lies were honey burned black,
deliciously rendered, falling smooth into her throat.
She always believed because his eyes were dark enough
to look like truth, because a body always wants the thing
that ruins it. She was rendered pliant, her flesh softened
to silk, a surface smoothed for the cut of his words,
the calculated rain falling down her shoulders, seeping
into her ribs, sinking deep until marrow itself believed him.
One glance was enough and she fell to him completely,
bones bending like branches in stormlight, pretending
her own truth was armor, pretending her name was a shield
against his mouth, against his ruin. But the storm is patient,
and the storm always knows where the body will break.