Pricked by the thorn
from a dusky red rose.
Blood drips from my fingertips
and falls...
onto the rain-washed sidewalk.
Waiting for my lover
who will not return.
Waiting for my lover
who is in the arms of another.
My tears stain the rose
standing there in the rain.
Sorrow is my companion.
The rose falls to the ground
as a painful reminder
to a love that did not last.

Rhiannon
May 8, 2001

"He met my eyes with his penetrating gaze. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. The temperature in the room spiked into the tropical range. My heart pounded in my chest like a ritual drum, and my knees threatened to buckle. I'd never seen such a gorgeous male. My logical mind engaged in a futile attempt to regain my attention...

"Budapest seems a wonderful place... The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East." So begins Bram Stoker's Dracula, written in a time when the city was seen as Europe's final frontier. Today, Budapest is rather more familiar (it joined the EU in 2004) - although it has lost none of its original appeal.

Somehow the night had passed--somehow in bitterness, in anguish. But it had passed.

Ernest's lips were parched and sleeplessness had left its trace in the black rings under the eyes, when the next morning he confronted Reginald in the studio.

chapter removed as per the request of the author