Nor is it an entry of major massive importance. If you don't want to see, hear, or read angsting and a really bad story fragment that is in NO way relevant to anything other than my own depression... then STOP READING, ok?

If you do NOT stop reading, then do NOT mention this entry to me. Do not discuss it. Do not pout about it, sulk over it, or anything else.

This is my depression.

Leave it alone.

It just wants to be left alone.

And I need to write it out... or ~I~ will want to be left alone, for a very long time.

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...

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...got it?

Good.

Now.

This is the part where you leave if you're not in the mood, ok?

Feel free to come back at the next entry, it'll be more cheerful, hopefully.

This one is just depression.

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.............a lot of depression.

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She was all in white, for the first time in her life the Lady was clad in white as pure as snow, as heartbreakingly bright as anything ever could be. Everything, the veil, the soft gloves, even the carefully-laced boots... all white. She'd laced the boots herself, adjusted every garmnet with her own hands, not let another slave help her.

This once, she mourned him in her own way.

She was in white, from the silver of the mark she'd carefully etched on her cheek to the pale silk of her long skirt, from the brilliance of her wide, tear-damn eyes to the soft velvet of the white collar she held in her hands.

Eyes closed, she listened to the music. Let it flow through her... over her... around her... past. She'd chosen the songs, knowing how much they would hurt, welcoming the pain, the last gift she could have from him. "Last Song"... she'd requested that they play it now, play it loudly, strongly, letting every note drown out the sound of her tears. And play it loudly they did... unexpectedly, the sounds of voices behind her drew her attention for a heartbeat. All of them, all those who were left... somehow, they'd known. They were singing, their words off-key and harsh, but still the most beautiful thing she could imagine.

She stared down at the carefully carved wood, at the leather straps... stared at the image that she'd paid much to have set into the wood. Stared at her mark. He'd carry it even now... and a collar as well, so he would not go into the next life unprotected. She knew it was foolish, knew it was ridiculous to think it mattered... but still, the soft white velvet, such a contrast to the black and steel that had bound him most of his life, was placed on top of the rich wood as it was lowered into the ground.

The music played... somehow, the clouds held back their rain, waiting, and then the sound of the first few handfuls of dirt broke through.

She ran, then... ran, blind, sobbing, ending finally in a little caf� not too far away... she walked inside. Closed her eyes, and for a moment heard him following her, ready to fetch her drink, to talk with her, just a few steps behind her where she needed him to be...

...and then the door closed and she was inside, alone with her memories and a handful of people who could not begin to understand why the woman dressed in white seemed so sad. A wedding, perhaps... or some other ceremony. None of them would have guessed that she had just watched a part of her soul sinking under the ground.

Her pets found her there, hours later. Worried, they were... knowing that she'd be ok, but still worried, knowing she'd be sad as well, alone... alone, without him.