Hunched in the bastion of the south wing, I watched clouds gather their troops. Thunder grumbled and grinded.

My vulnerability thrived at the cackling of lightning. With every storm came the possibility of invasion. Pounding in the sky, in my chest. I prayed my defences would hold.

Invisible archers were always in position. The drawbridge: permanently raised and fastened—leaving me alone with ghosts.

The battle ended years ago. Blood shed, lessons learned. This time, I would not retreat. I banished the memories, which so often thwarted my efforts to stand my ground.

A wave of valiance came over me. I needed to look my enemy in the eye. I climbed the stairs to the tower. The sky laughed at me and crushed my courage. My eyes sought comfort in the water surrounding my keep.

My body soaked in fresh air, the smell and touch of rain. I wondered where my foe lay.

As raindrops and tears merged, I removed my wedding ring, letting it fall to the half-full moat.

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