In our next life...
I knew that shade of red. And the face that followed : oval like a silvering moon.
And even though I had yet to see them : her eyes : the same shade of light blue flecked with grey.
And despite my quickened pulse and heightened senses, I could not be quick. Fast would be fatal. For if she didn't recognise me this time, my cause would be lost.
And I would have to wait until next time. Which could be years, in truth perhaps decades, more likely centuries or even millennia.
But at least I knew where she lived, this time. My steps had somehow found out where she had trod. Unlike last time.
Because that last time, despite that spark : that moment of recognition, despite our realisation, nothing could be done.
She merely inclined her head towards me and dropped her eyes. She could not plead my case. The last I remember before being taken away back to my camp, was the single tear of crystal against her skin.
After all what could she say? That she'd met me previously even though she'd lived all of her life closeted from all. This time she was a noblewomen in waiting.
How could she say that she knew this tattered soldier? Me a complete foreigner : for I had never journeyed to her country. I had only beheld her when she was someone else completely.
And with her unable to plead my case, my life was forfeit and lost. That time.
So this time I had to let coincidence take its course, that is if it would bend its way towards me. This time.
Which is why I was waiting on the corner of her street of her town. Waiting for the sunset. Waiting for the twilight to bring her to me. And me to her. Finally.
And if all fails again, I'll know that shade of red : when we meet in our next life.