The night fell silent. A creeping mist engulfed the paddocks around the house. Anya sat huddled on her cast iron bed, the bars surrounding her like a prison, she was its captive. She knew it wasn’t the bars that kept her prisoner here, but her unwavering love for him. It chained her down and allowed her to soar, all at once.
The fire in the corner had now died away leaving smoky glowing embers. Would his love for her die this way? Would the passionate red licking flames be extinguished ? Clasping her hands over her ears she tried to block out the voices. The voices of fear, unable to open up her heart to him.
The coffee she had made earlier had gone cold, her mind wandering, she picked up the mug and opened the heavy wooden door. It scraped on the rough tiles and the sound echoed through the empty house.
The hall was cold and silent, Anya pulled her dressing-gown around her for warmth. A strange wind whistled outside the house, her heart quickened. The tiles gave way to a soft red carpet on the landing. As she crossed, something caught her eye.
In the glass panel at the side of the front door, she watched two figures blurry but embracing. Anya drew a long low breath, squinting her eyes and moving closer to the banister, she tried to see them. The porch light was dull and obscured her vision.
Glancing back, the china clock struck two am, Anya wondered who was outside and why she had not noticed the hours slipping away.
Quietly she descended the large grand staircase, hugging herself, she was shivering. ‘Damn’ she squealed as the coffee mug, bounced along the blue and white tiled floor before smashing into a thousand pieces. Looking up the figures had disappeared, ‘Damn it’ , Anya muttered under her breath. Panic gripped her heart again, she tiptoed round the mess and crept into the kitchen. Before switching on the light she peered into the darkness outside the window, looking for a glimmer or movement. Nothing.
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