Disclaimer: Míriel and the bloody, angsty history of Arda belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Author's Note: This was written for a Parma challenge to write one hundred words on the theme of windows. I took some liberties with the word 'windows'.
Once – in life – I made my own windows and I made what I saw in them; small squares of world in gold thread, blue thread, gray. They looked inward, held worlds within walls, within myself. If I did not want to look I pulled shutters across my loom with still hands.
Now my windows look outward; I see what is there and not my wish. Burnt ships still floating, blood vining from a wrist, my son spun out from beneath my hand. They are hung like holes on these walls; small squares of world in red thread, black thread, gray.