Moi, fardeau inhérent (suivi de) Incessants

A woman stands alone in the night, waiting. It is raining.
Shadow. Pretext. Ghost. Perhaps? A frail apparition who speaks of her heartbreak, her wound that will never heal, the secret long kept within her withered body, her burden.
On the tip of her tongue, a silhouette in the night, with moonlit words in the opaque rain.
She evokes the time before. She awaits the time of vengeance. She awaits the man—that scum. She awaits him with, in her hand, the storm and the sword.