She had a painful tendency of profusely hurting anyone she loved dear enough. It was first her parents, who died when she was pretty young. And then, lovers taken in and lovers let go, and lovers strangled. The cycle followed a regular pattern, love (for the Widow was always at extremes!) and then more love, and finally the jugular. However, since she loved she felt the dagger of empathy tear herself as well. But it was like a ink blot on a lovely poem, a poem you can never read again.

Life went on for the Widow, marred by bouts of contemplative restlessness. She tried very hard to find the answer. She realised that she was not happy, maybe she can never be happy like other creatures of heaven and earth who loved and find their joy in that. She tried to busy herself in work, became pragmatic about life and living and also developed a rationality in finding her pleasures.

Then one day she got the answer she was looking for. She gathered, the answer lied in loving herself. If she loved herself more than any other, she would at least be rid of her guilt. She loved herself, not in the way of pampering herself, but in the beautiful way only lovers can, removing the dualities of mind and body, heart and soul. She just loved.

One night, deep and sound, she woke up to find that she was mutating herself, gnawing out one of her tentacles. But since, all dualities were gone, she could do nothing but observe, which she perceived as an act of love. All of a sudden, it flashed upon her, this is how her lovers must have felt, but she was too deep in her own spell to react. However, strange are the ways of love, for with uproot of one tentacles, (like a Lernean hydra) two grew in its place. And thus it followed, for every tentacles she tore apart. With this knowledge she entered a dark cave, and how she ended up no one knows. All one knows, is that this was her beginning of finding herself.

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