Secrets are forever bonded to the walls of the Threshold, the threat of exposure, the height of revelation, peeled at the cracks of newcomers and well wishers, crawls and slides along the forest floor until its covered in a labyrinthine canvas of hidden, private worlds. She still carried hers with her, idle strokes that remained, embossed, lacquered into her enigmatic poise and prose, capturing her essence and holding her to a strangled aperture – constant reminders of how close she’d been to damnation, how scarred, how riddled, how desolate she would be without the strength, the dominion, to withstand the onslaughts of terror. What did this stranger have burrowed inside his core, what mysteries perilously skimmed the surface of his sword, his shield? Did he traverse the world in search for salvation? Did he awaken from the balms of treachery and suddenly hold benediction aloft? Did he caress the aching realms of sin and iniquity, burying it deep inside him, spirited away with a fastened grin, a dabbling of charisma? Was he kind, was he tragic, was he settled in stone, incapable of altering, a statue amongst men? Obscurity eternally, everlastingly, traced the forms and frames within this vague, uncertain realm, but she could never stop herself from asking them, intrigued, captivated, enchanted by stories left untold, wondering if they were like hers, pondering if the earth had found others that had been abandoned, if she could escort them to a kingdom that allowed them to awaken from their nightmares, form their newfound aspirations. She tilted her head, listened to his words, courted curiosity until it simmered within her head, luminescent and radiant, glowing and spellbinding, watched as he stared upon her, examined, investigated. What if he found holes there, the patchwork she’d laced and layered carefully across each section and sanction of her heart, soul and entity? Would he rip it to shreds, would he tear it away? Or would he let her fashion new taffeta strings and satin strands, forgo the rotten core he’d seen along the intertwining eaves of silk, grandeur and opulence?

Her smile, quiet, hushed ambience or tranquil cordiality didn’t vanish, didn’t retreat, but her defenses coiled around her, silent and muffled. Practical, unperturbed, composed, she blinked, allowed long lashes to curl along her cheeks, then lifted their honeyed hues back towards the horizon, felt the idle, incoming summer wind glide against her features. Vigilant and serene, her stare followed the sun’s rays until they pinpointed on the gilded stag once more, grin still alive, still well, still furnished and extended to the warbling days of spring and the trilling throngs of grace. “A pleasure, Roland.” The words rolled off her lips with ease, brewing into the next with petaled, dulcet croons, tangible essences of humility, finery and delicacy. “Fairly close.” She settled on a momentary pause, a section of mulling, before tossing out the invitation. “Would you be interested in joining it?”