Characters: Frodo and...? *cackles evilly*
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. No harm meant, no profit gained.
You sing to me of Spring -- scented with daffodils… and vaguely… innocence?
You laugh -- liquid bells chiming on a golden breeze… and I am lost, though I care not.
“A simple gift”, you say, “offered none before.”
I look. It is perfection itself, limned in sun, moon or firelight – I cannot tell. I want to touch it, embrace it. (Or does it want to touch me, embrace me?)
“It is love”, you whisper, “robed in glorious, benevolent might.”
But I see only death.
I hold my breath… poised on the threshold.
For I know…
I must accept.