Didn't have to be so nice: the Sin Eater.

Knowing the peculiar form of love that radiates from the nut-center of pity, a kind of forgiveness beyond anything that can be measured by mere language, taken-up, through a starving world of uninteresting men, she could, as it were, display mercy and give solace to a wounded falcon, who was taken to drugs, crime and dissipation.

It was well within her power, it seemed, that she was well in appearance, long in gait, and her mercies were promethean, to grant mercy, in such a way that it had meaning to her, at least, to one that requires mercy and comfort the most, in particular.

For lack of a better term, call it late-night Friday triage.

Saving the world, one lost soul at a time, taken to the rack.

But then, such a quixotic goal it is, covering another’s sins and losses with one’s own countenance---confounding the intentions and strategies of a motley lot of interested prospective lovers, and seeming to those that her actions were without logic—for they miss the substantial mercy of the thing.

If thou hast aught against…

“Lemon Drop” Goddens, thusly, abandoned by her charge to due service to her own actions, the fruit of her actions, an equally straw-haired fawn of her own issue. The woman and child: the modern heroics of simply living one’s life, surviving.

*No better nourishment for one’s own soul than to give a hungry rogue a bowl of gruel, and if he still whimpers, love him up.  Why the answer to our ills sometimes is to service the ills of others, almost as of working penance, but if not penance, tightening a common thread among so many of us.

As of the olden days, applying one’s mouth to the wound of another and bluntly sucking-out the poison.  

Figuratively, ingesting the sin of another.

On the outside to the casual observer: debauchery and gleeful dissipation--

--but have I not demonstrated that the act of mercy was not the subsequent metric of the thing, but the very act of mercy that was the precipitate: companionship or whatever it was, to the lover who required it most—nay, don’t say it, not of her own desire, not that, but that act of mercy?