Kerrington moved to the floor to ceiling window at the end of the foyer. The remains of the envelope floating and sinking amongst the Lily of the Valley stems in the Waterford vase behind her. One hand pressed against the wall, an inch from the pane. The letter crushed into her other palm.
In this manner, she remained as though cast in bronze and on display. Her thoughts concealed behind features angular and brittle. Kerrington watched as the sun shifted from the lake on the eastern side of the property to the gardens near the house. In her mind, she took a photograph, memorizing the colors of spring, mastering the curves of petals and learning by heart the softness of her birds’ wings.
I should go, she thought.
(Other segments in the Kerrington short story series can be found here).
LKT © 2015