My love,

I made a sickle this turn. You'd be proud. It was strange being in a forge again. All the memories of you just came flooding back. All that time I'd spend hiding in there from my folks and endless chores needing done. I could close my eyes and pretend it was you hammering and sharpening. Even the smell was of you, the lingering scent of sweat and the tang of metal. Smoke. How can that scent hold such sweetness and such horror? I remember the dreams I used to pretend, watching you work. Dreams of holding our babies and of our bonding. I have a callus on my hand now. Same as you. I keep brushing it over my cheek. I can close my eyes and almost pretend it is your hand against my skin. Almost.

I miss you.
- Aria