And Now, a New Season and New Narrative

To Begin With. . . .

But Nicholas was chivalrous, above all else. It was well-known, like a birthmark you can’t hide with clothing, or a withered arm. His eyes would betray it, in the dark hours, and he would sit in the darkness and watch the first snow falling outside the latticed study windows. A virtue streaked like a character flaw in his destiny, spoken over dim fires and homemade caves on the secret places, marred like Galahad. In the end, it would be his undoing.