'Those eyes, are purple, like mine

but...

they're so different...

they have not seen what I have

Had they?

...

How old was the spider queen's friend?

...

He himself...

how old was he?

he had seen nations come and go, cities, states.

He had belonged to Russia.
Poland.
Lithuania.

Been taken forcefully.

Been taken by choice.

Loved.

Lost.

Birthed.

and fathered.

they had the same purple eyes.

But no.

hers were the purple of deep love, of pleasant summer flower fields, of soft spring rains, the sky as the sun set in fall and the gleam of sun against winter sea.

and his.

what were his?

The broken amethyst shade of wilting petals, of the clouds that bring down storms, the colour of bleak cold nights, and the purple of a dead man's skin.

He lifted his head, watching her, she hated him.

she had good reason to do so he supposed, though he would not harm her.

she changed her stance, listening, she probably knew he was nearby.

His gaze shifted down the cliff he sat high upon, to the water below.

His eyes had been like hers once, his eyes had been many things.

His eyes were those of:
a mother
a father
a lover
a friend...
a killer
death and malpractice.

his ears fanned out as he made his way down the cliff's edge, shaking the water over his back and sides until the lake ran red, and his pelt ran gold.

"Pray you fall young, lilac eyes

for time shall wilt them well."

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