His eyes, stained with cool and private desire, seize my mind. But I am a piece of blood jade, carved and polished a thousand times over, clear and proud in my icy beauty, embedded in his body. We torment each other until dawn reveals the road ahead. I love him, so I want to kill him. When I first met him in the palace at seventeen, I thought he was ridiculous, and he thought I was pitiful. We drew our swords and carved into each other, and by the end, through all the pain, we found joy. At twenty, we feasted, making love without a trace of fear, lost in music, song, and laughter. Then came another five years, with more partings than meetings, as we came and went, and one of us finally grew indifferent. All I have is his face on paper, not his heart, nor mine.
