In retrospect, the Lady failed herself. Letting her dreamy idealism conflict with the reality of sorrow.
Charmed she was to fall for his enigmatic nature. Purposefully ignorant that he wasn't Angel or Edward.
He isn't Mr. Darcy.
Yet, still the Lady fought and wished earnestly to give the benefit of doubt so consumed with knowing they weren't ill-fated.
But soul mates.
Perhaps the peaceful countenance she felt was the haphazard haze of consistent bruising of regret, adoration, agony, relief.
Lust or Love. Or was it a meeting on the metaphysical to transcend into the bedding of the physical?
He knows not who the Lady was. What they do. Who view whats. She knows him not.
Delighting in the clouded mystery.
The Lady was so eager to give her heart and wait for the wind to return.
Still awashed in the short sighted memories that are benign based upon the severity of the circumstances.
Now slightly crushed and her human nature is ruined.
Merely a phantom of the former being.
The Lady's awakening still slumbers.
