trinket

Tonight her tiny looped earring unfastened itself. A silver curl broke away from its circle. It’s sharing a bed with another body that’s the fault. There’s no room to turn without something getting caught against the covers, or him.

He noticed it first; the glint of silver against the soft lobes held him, fascinated.

Your earring’s loose.

Reaching for her ear for confirmation, she uttered a low curse. She cursed the covers, the proximity, the silversmith and her own fumbling fingers that were never able to fasten the wretched little things anyway.

Would you?

Yes, would you ever be able to slot such a miniscule silver thread into its rightful place? Or would you see that perhaps the circle was meant to remain incomplete – it has been known to happen, after all. You could simply say no, admit defeat. Why tie up all loose ends and why commit to the connotations of this circlet, now hanging from its hinge forlorn?

His fingers brushed her skin in their attempt to clasp the sliver of stubborn metal without causing injury. How he’d hate for her to wince. Not that she would. But still.

There.

It’s done now.

A battle won. Someone had to lose.