Never before had she screamed that loud, that deep. Never before did the sound of her own voice, resounding archaic cries of a long lost ancestor's suffrage, cause her to flee from her own self. She was unfamiliar to herself in this moment, a stranger, choked by the heavy air of a crime unforetold. Yet these horrifying yelps that terrorized her ripped being- her torn, shredded longing of pure righteousness in a world gone corrupt- felt strangely inviting. 

She gathered her being in a quiet moisture of the tears shed for a life well lived, well loved. Her heart began to cry out. Who the hell would protect her if the one she loved so casually led her astray? Who was there to trust any longer if love's name groans with hypocrisy?  She was fueled with this hate, this gripping lamentation for all the good he had given her. She wanted him to know her pain, she wanted to rouse all of the beauty in her soul then destroy it in front of his face. She wanted to burn her very self just to show him what he had lost. She would be the monarched cue, the crimsoned grace betrayed by a narcissistic savage at war.

She was to take all that she had given him back and pawn it off to the world, leaving herself defenseless. 

She marched on in her mind with these thoughts of martyred hearts and sickened lullabies, all the while imploring her own heart to understand. What she felt was that the anger that swirled within her was not destructive, but instead, strangely peaceful. It was direct, fierce, and powerful. In the troubled confusion that floated the surface of drama unfit for a spiritual warrior, her anger knew its own name, and knew where its arrow was pointed.

Then it hit her. Her own arrow.

And she laughed. Then wept. This ecstasy was here to stay. 

This anger helped her remember, remember all that time she took to find him. It fought with her to remember the unbearable grounds in her own life she had reached just to call forth his soul from the new-found depths of her own. She had seen straight into him, looked directly at him without blinking, and he loved her for it. Then she knew. She knew exactly why his cowardly act shook her to the core, she knew why her soul cried: She knew love. She knew truth. She knew honesty and integrity and the innocence of her youth. She had known him once, and would know him again. And she knew these things better than those that threatened them. Standing in the pure reflection of her husband's greed, in front of the many tragedies her life had known, she saw herself at last, once and for all, as the protector of the love that could never be taken away- a love that through its own remembrance, became the world itself.