He asked, ‘can you keep the door open just a crack, so when my monsters consume me I know I can get back, so when I’m at my worst so long as I see that tiny wedge of light– I’ll know there’s hope.’ But She bolted the doors, put planks on the windows, and snuffed out every candle. She called the guards, who chained him up and shot his horse. Come morning when he limped back to her door, she fled when she saw him, threatening him with the garrison again.
He found himself in stocks, without any escape. He waited desperately for her, but she never came. So he lived off of the passing scraps of strangers and well wishers, eating where he could. Waiting. Surviving. At last she returned with scorn in her eye. Condemning the prisoner, for eating to get by. “You should’ve waited”, she said. I might’ve been baking bread in the house I boarded up, in the oven you couldn’t see, in the place I plucked from your reach. You should’ve waited.