Eight months since I’ve seen him.The en’var of his ownership over me has come and gone, without a word. Not that a man such as he owes me, but I wonder as to his fate. Is he alive? Does he think about me? Does he miss me, even a little?
The cards have been unusually quiet, as if they are brooding a loss of their own, or perhaps this is just transference of my own feelings into the deck I so cherish. They want to tell me something about myself, but I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to know.
I’ve barely left the house at all the last several hands, or for that matter, his room. I sit on the balcony watching the road below, Glee occasionally coming to check on me, but even she cannot replace the gloomy abandonment with cheer.
I miss him.
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