Fear and loathing of one so beloved. The spider’s death-marked marriage. The black widow hides beneath the guise of the white witch. Spellbound in the aura of one of the days long spent, with no more to hold than the chimera of a memory moulded from a dream. In the shadow of those great ones, in the essence of the heart hiding, under the floor, in the cracks, not seeing the light but instead watching the lamp bearers closely to garner the knowledge of fire from the gods. Withering scorn kept behind a door held forever ajar, the draft a chilling breeze to the soul. The melted snowman, all of winters kin, when sun beckons from spring pastures flee, shrink, and die.