Memoir: The Tenth Year

Three thousand, five hundred and thirty five days. The Bitch was wrong.

In nine full cycles of the seasons no one has taken my heart from you. The end of the tenth year is coming fast, when I was to find you again and prove myself in your eyes. Prove once and forever that the Bitch was wrong. That I belong to you, and always have.

Even the walls of Troy fell in the tenth year, and rendered up Helen to her rightful husband. No heart could be so hard as that.

And now my only fear is that the walls of Troy already lie in dust, her army bleeding into the Simois and Meander, her women pillaged and Helen only a ghost in Aegupt.

I am no soldier but in the army the Bitch appoints me to. Is she laughing, now? Ten years, and she wraps her arms around Paris once again, and steals him away in a cloud of mist, leaving Menelaus to curse her name all over again.

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