If a handkerchief could speak. Part Two.

I have not always been thus. A  macabre trophy. In my time I have lived many lives, and witnessed countless secrets. We handkerchiefs are confidantes. Conspirators.  Carried in places that are seldom touched by others. Nestled deep in sleeves, or bound tightly to corseted bosoms. Always near the pulsing throb of life.  Oh, and I…

If a handkerchief could speak. Part One.

I am now naught but a party piece of the new governor of Cyprus. Stained.  Passed around like a whore in a tavern. Devoid of dignity, pride or ownership. Yet once I was a talisman of great import. My maker poured all of her essence and power and wisdom in to me, and gave me…