im online

Myrine was silent. What had always enchanted me more than anything else about her was her hatred for my prophecies, which I never uttered in her presence, to be sure; but they were always reported to her promptly, including the passing mention of my certainty that I was going to be killed. She would not let me get away with that, unlike the others. Where did I get the right to make such pronouncements? I did not answer, closed my eyes in happiness. At last, after such a long time, my body again. Once again the hot stab through my insides. Once again the utter weakness for someone. How she tore into me. So I had not cared for Penthesilea, the man-killing warrior woman, eh? she asked. Well, did I think that she, Myrine, had killed fewer men than her commander in chief? When in fact she had most likely killed more, after Penthesilea, in order to avenge her?

Yes, my pony, but that was something else again.

That was your clenched defiance and your blazing grief for Penthesilea, don't you think I understood that? Then there was her deep shrinking shyness, her fear of being touched, which I never infringed until the moment when I was allowed to wind her blond mane around my hand and so found out how very much I had felt like doing that for so long. Your smile in the moment of my death, I thought; and because I no longer abstained from any caress, I left the terror behind me for a long time.