Pocketses

It should be on the desk. That's where it stayed in the good times. In the top left corner, right at the back, near the sides that rose to form shelves above the main writing surface, you could find the small scrap of fabric, its woven pattern stitched through with bright orange thread in the form of four letters. It didn't look like much, but it was the most valuable thing the desktop held. It had come through all the dark, cold, terrible days from the before times, traveling from one pocket to another, a tiny beacon, never discovered, never forgotten, all the way until the days of shining light, restoration, affirmation.
  It should be on the desktop in its corner. That it was not bode great ill to her. It was in his pocket. The darkness had come again.