Letters From Sabine I (RE: Malach IV)

My Malach,

I will confess this to you and you alone: I never loved, so your fascination with this ebony-eyed foreign beauty is as foreign to me as it is fascinating. Yet I suppose that I do understand your passion – you who plays with the elements so willfully, who calls down comets to incinerate those that displease you – you who dabbles wantonly with the wrath of storms and who is given to moods of melancholy. Perhaps this love is a trifle like your moods and you gave yourself over wholeheartedly in a flutter of a second to something you know cannot last…because the passion of the moment renders it eternal, if only in your memory.

My husband is a man worthy of love. Respect and fealty are all he receives from me – along with gentleness I never feigned, but that was as far from any semblance of passion as a burial is from a wedding. He is a strange, spiritual man. Pious. I marvel at the warlike grandeur of him that nestles in his heart alongside complete, irrevocable submission to a higher power. I entertain idle thoughts of what it would be like to be that ‘power’. What it would be like to pander to such ultimate subordination?

I wonder…

Marrow of your bones, now and ever.

~ Sabine.