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The Only Reason
Except the wall clock's gentle ticking and the occasional ruffle of the curtains the breeze pushed through the slightly cracked window, the room was still. Sarah's silk robe slid smoothly over her bare legs as she sat cross-legged on her spacious canopy bed. The beautiful rose-gold tone of the cloth complemented the soft colors of her bedroom, which included blush accents, ivory walls, and a delicate chandelier that threw warm light glints over her vintage vanity table and bookshelves. A velvet sleep mask lay on the bedside, forgotten, and her hair was unbound, cascading down her back in soft waves. She hadn't slept. Not at all. Not since Marcus's departure. Her eyes strayed to the unfinished teacup next to her bed. chilly. Similar to the quiet that had surrounded her all day. A lot had transpired. Too much. She detested the weight in her chest, the anticipation, the uncertainty, and the pain that accompanied comprehending how profoundly a person's absence could reverberate thro
For Her
As if they were weary of hearing, the candles flickered low, their flames slender and twitchy. The tiny subterranean room felt chilly, not only from a lack of heat but also from aging. The stone walls were wet with ancient wetness, and dust clung to the corners. Chalk was used to draw a circle of black runes on the floor, almost smeared by too many pacing feet. With his coat still on and the sleeves stretched past his forearms, Harrison sat by himself in the room, his creases as sharp as if he hadn't slept in days. His brown hair hung freely across his forehead, his shirt was half-buttoned, and his boots were dirty. He appeared to be a man who had lost the ability to sleep. The crystal, dark and slightly humming, was perched on an ancient marble pedestal in the center of the room. He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw as he peered at it. He whispered, "I know you're still in there." His voice reverberated a little. They believe you posed a threat. that you were a thing that h
Don't Walk Away
She didn't knock. Sarah opened his door as soon as she got there; it was too loud and too quick, as if he might vanish if she waited another second. Half-hunched over his duffel bag, Marcus stood close to his bed. He had his back to her. The strap was gripped in one hand. The other lay on a shirt that he hadn't packed yet, folded. He paused at the sound of the door. He straightened slowly and glanced over his shoulder. They looked at each other. He seems unsurprised. She didn't appear composed. With a tighter voice than she intended, she questioned, "Are you leaving?" With a quiet sigh, he turned to look at her. "I intended to inform you." "When?" Her voice became piercing. "After you left my pillow with a note? Or should another maid have told me?” Marcus ran a hand down his face and looked away. “Sarah…” "No," she replied as she entered and closed the door. "No more silent departures. Stop acting like none of this is important.”He didn't answer. She examined the bag. Not ful
Leaving Quietly
Sunlight dragged across his room's ceiling like a creeping warning. For hours, Marcus had been awake. He watched the estate gradually come to life as he stood by the window with the curtains half drawn. A gardener crossed the grass. The windows of the east wing were opened by a servant. Overhead, birds flew carelessly. He hadn't slept. And he was no longer certain that meant anything. There was too much silence in his mind. That silence was what he used to long for. Now it was merely cacophony masquerading as tranquility. He grabbed the jacket that was dangling from the chair's back after turning away from the window. He had already made up his mind. In the garden was Victor. He was, of course. The identical morning coat in navy every time. Hands clasped behind his back as if he were still in charge of a battlefield rather than a home, he was always beside the lilies. Marcus waited for them to be by themselves. Then took a step forward. He greeted with "good morning." Victor
Silvery-haired being
Sarah stopped. As soon as she entered the room, her breath caught. Warm, gentle lighting was provided by floating crystal lanterns that created golden patterns on the walls that resembled stars spilling through the ceiling. The aroma of lavender enveloped her, soothing and eerie, like memories she had never experienced. And she was in the middle of it all. The beautiful woman laid on the bed. Her long silver hair flowed in a flawless braid over her shoulder. Although her face was motionless, it was not dead. Gentle. Calm. As if she were just napping. Her hands, both of them, sparkled softly at the fingers, and her flesh shimmered faintly in the light. Alive. But unearthly. Sarah's knees grew weaker. When she spoke, her voice wavered. "Who is she?" Victor walked slowly as he followed her inside. "Your grandmother." Sarah's eyes got bigger. "What?" "You are aware of her name," Victor stated quietly. "Or you ought to have." Sarah looked at him in shock, “You said that she had l
Almost doesn't Count
There was silence on the drive from Diana's estate. It's weighty, but not awkward. As if all the things that were not said were burdening the atmosphere. With her arms crossed across her chest, Sarah gazed out the window as the car slid into the peaceful streets on its way home, watching buildings fade into the distance. With one hand on the wheel and the other resting freely in his lap, Marcus sat next to her. He always appeared to be at ease. However, she sensed the change in him. His quiet wasn't quiet. It was worn out. Diana was on his mind. Of course. And because of how that made her feel, Sarah detested herself. She looked down at her lap and shifted slightly in her seat. She twisted the hem of her top with her fingers. What was this? This was meant to be easy. She had intervened on his behalf. to keep him safe. To act morally. It ceased to be about defending the mission, however, at some point. It became about him. She felt as though she was losing a struggle she had never
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