Her Wedding Night
"Tell me a story…"
"I will tell you any story that you like."
"I don't mind which, Erik… I never mind…"
The firelight played on Christine's blonde curls as she sat cross-legged in front of the hearth and held her hands in a quiet position in her lap. She kept her eyes shyly downcast. The translucent veil hid most of her features and drew in her mouth just slightly with each breath that she took.
It was her wedding night.
"Tell me the one about the nightingale…"
"The one that you know so well…"
There was a silence, and a rustle as her husband knelt by her side and tilte
Around six o'clock on Saturday whispers had gotten around that there was someone new in town and that that said person was lingering on the corner of Paschal and Iscariot Avenue, two side streets that ran north and west. A shady pub and a library (with the "b", "r", and "y" missing) sat across the street from each other on Iscariot. The library was rarely open and no one was ever inside, but the pub was loud and alive and every night bathed the library in a red glow.
The town itself encompassed two blocks. If one was to stand on the corner by the barber shop and look down the street then they'd see the top of the courthouse a
"Happy birthday, Miss Helena."
A small pastry with pink frosting and five candles was placed on the table. Cross-legged and wearing a white party dress, the birthday girl leaned over and drew in her breath with a wish. In the comforting silence she wished more than anything that she could give her mother a piece of her cake…
After the candles extinguished the smoke curled above the servants' heads and they cheered. They were quiet so not to disturb the master of the house. Upstairs and behind closed doors he wept at the bedside of his dying wife… Her moaning delusions had passed into silence and he clung to the ends of her fing
Birds of a Feather by roseofversailles, literature
Birds of a Feather
Birds of a Feather
Christine sat on the steps of an abandoned church and smiled as the afternoon rain began to stop. She watched two birds build a nest in the bell tower. Their gray wings flashed in the afternoon sun. She saw them come and go, so alike that it was impossible to differentiate one from the other. It was as though only one bird was building the nest—a bird that moved at quite a high speed!
She giggled at the idea, and then her white hand covered her mouth before the forbidden sound could get too far.
She had come to the church seeking forgiveness. Two days ago she had left in the early morning hours to fetch water to cool her