Fred was used to loss. His father, his mother – twice – and now Anya. But the last loss had been his choice. His decision. But he had done the right thing, hadn’t he?
He turned over in bed, punching the pillow […]
He made the statement so boldly, so quickly, she barely had time to hear.
It took her a moment. She blinked. Then blinked again.
“I’m sorry, what?” As if she wasn’t sure of the words that had left his lips.
He could not call her violent. After all he’d seen here, he knew he couldn’t forget that this place was once her last bastion of hope. She had shared it with others with a kind heart and a need to create. But it had eventually corrupted her. Now all that was left in the walls [...]
I was determined to make it work.
Shirk the feelings of uselessness, the apathy, the drudgery
shake it like the winter coat I’m aching to abandon.
I’m awaiting the new season, the new air, the sweet breeze
I haven’t always been addicted to ease; it’s a recent disease
He poured the whiskey slowly, a note in their conversation, a violin in her ear. She watched the glass fill for a moment before returning her eyes to his lips, staring in admiration at the slow curl of a smile. He was aware of her eyes.