Waiting

He waited for her.

The clock started to strike midnight, and still he waited, back straight and head held high–his armor catching the dying candle light and reflecting it back into the gloom of his surroundings. He remained at attention, ready for his lady to return, and kept his eyes set ahead on the approaching dawn.

He waited for her.

Soon the clock high above him started to chime in the new day, and still he waited, dew from the evening gathering in diamond droplets across the shining surface of his mail. Birds slowly began to wake and cry in the new day, but no one stirred the dust settling on the steps that led from her chamber.

He waited for her.

The clock called out for the day to end, and still he waited, wishing his lady back to his side. His armor had begun to lose its silver luster, and rust crept into the cracks where he had not polished it in some time. He alone kept vigil in anticipation of her return–an impossibility he could not dismiss.

And still he waited.

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