Ke took what was left of kir clothes and ripped a thin length from it. Binding it across the cold eye sockets, ke asked if ke was still emanating kir emotions and power. “No, in fact, you’ve all but disappeared.” Ke nods.
“Part of my sentencing, it would seem. Not only am I blinded, I am cast into darkness. But you were right, seeing is not the only way.”
Ke shows me kir hands. Also wrapped in rags. “Look. Everything I touch, decays. But I have touched you, and you’re unblemished. How?”
“Blight. I’ve wielded it before, and you weren’t using it against me when you held me. I guess I’m immune, over here.” I looked kir over, noting where the darkness fought to hide kir from me. “What are you going to do now? Are your brethren going to come after you?”
“I’ve found… others. I’m going to explore this world I am exiled to. It is not as desolate as I had been led to believe. You taught me that.” Ke took my hands between kir. “You, who are godless, showed me love without bias, concern without judgement, and care without debt. I have been lied to about many things. I want to find the truth now. But not before thanking you.”
Ke kissed my hands and patted them. I pulled kir close and hugged kir instead. “If I’m immune to the blight, then you may not get a hug for a while. So here’s one for the road. Stop by when you will.” Ke returned the embrace and choked back a sob.
“Your kindness gives me strength. I will meet you again. Thank you. Good bye.” Ke releases me and turns away. I see the tattered remains of a large cloth wrapped and tied about kir waist like a knee-length skirt. The cracking lace of the blight reaches delicately up the forearm. The mantle of darkness grips kir tightly, but to my unsight it is translucent. The pure white hair, once waist length, has been pulled and hacked to brush kir shoulders in wisps and strands.
Ke is covered in dirt and dust. It gathers in the valleys of kir musculature and highlights kir perfection. Ke is so beautiful, I catch myself unable to turn away. Once ke fully disappears from my view, I am able to look elsewhere.
I keep telling myself I don’t have the entire story, so it is not my right to jump to conclusions. I keep telling myself that I’m still quite open to kir and kir emotions, so I’m probably dealing with Post-Good-Book syndrome. This isn’t my regret. This isn’t my pain.
I’ll take that rum, now.