***Lament by Lynsey M. Stewart***
Coming March 22nd 2019 to E-book and paperback
Standalone
Single dad
Brooding cello player
Gutsy dancer
A Fairy door
Finding hope through grief
Coming March 22nd 2019 to E-book and paperback
Standalone
Single dad
Brooding cello player
Gutsy dancer
A Fairy door
Finding hope through grief
Dear Grief Fairy,
I’ve met a man who encompasses grief. Alexander Blayren, a brooding cellist with a body I crave and a soul I ache to know better. He’s rude and bold, brash and sharp, but I see the lost soul underneath. Crying out. Surviving grief for the sake of his daughter. Just.
Before we met, Alexander didn’t believe you could survive grief. Loss had painted his life black, dimming the bright lights and quietening his music. But I didn’t agree with the man I heard play out his demons through his notes. The man I find myself infatuated by. I found my way through grief, because I had a channel for my pain. When I lost my mother and sister, dance was my therapy. Movement my recovery. Could music be his? Could the haunting melodies be his reprieve? The cry of a bow across the strings his lifeline? Or could his journey to survival begin through me? Through my body, the one he studies as I dance, through my cries of pleasure under his fingertips or his undeniable arousal at my willing restraint...
Grief Fairy, you understand me better than anyone. Please help me to relieve his lament.
Yours
Nat.
I’ve met a man who encompasses grief. Alexander Blayren, a brooding cellist with a body I crave and a soul I ache to know better. He’s rude and bold, brash and sharp, but I see the lost soul underneath. Crying out. Surviving grief for the sake of his daughter. Just.
Before we met, Alexander didn’t believe you could survive grief. Loss had painted his life black, dimming the bright lights and quietening his music. But I didn’t agree with the man I heard play out his demons through his notes. The man I find myself infatuated by. I found my way through grief, because I had a channel for my pain. When I lost my mother and sister, dance was my therapy. Movement my recovery. Could music be his? Could the haunting melodies be his reprieve? The cry of a bow across the strings his lifeline? Or could his journey to survival begin through me? Through my body, the one he studies as I dance, through my cries of pleasure under his fingertips or his undeniable arousal at my willing restraint...
Grief Fairy, you understand me better than anyone. Please help me to relieve his lament.
Yours
Nat.
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