Disclaimer: LotR belongs to Tolkien, not me. I make no money off of this work; it just brings me joy.

The woman he loves is made of steel – silver embedded with ice and gold. She's as slender as a tongued dagger blade, and when she slices across a room the air around her sings the song of death. And wanting her is like wanting to die, just as bleak and cold and unforgiving.

Still the want is there, eating away at him. Having chewed up his heart the gaping jaws seek other prey, now gnawing at his ribcage. Soon that will also be eaten, and then the rest of him will follow. She will be consumed, too, if that starving mouth is not satisfied soon. The only thing that will sate it is having her.

To touch her, he knows, is to grasp a blade – doing so will slice him apart. But the blade dazzles his eyes, shines brightly in the sun. Like a child bewitched, he reaches for it. He cannot help but run a finger down its length.

He knows that touching her could kill him. Yet he is still amazed when the finger comes away stained with his blood.