083: Snowdrop Tree, Part I
Drooping from the branches, the white bells have forgotten to ring. You sit on the bench beneath them, a book from the library open in your lap. It is the one he recommended during breakfast. You are not sure if you are reading it because you enjoy it or because he suggested it, but you are a hundred pages in and you have not noticed your surroundings for at least two hours now.
You reach a natural pause on the page and look up at the sky to take a deep breath, as though you have surfaced from a deep dive. The air is cold and refreshing.
Up the path, between some leafs and branches, you see the glass door open. He steps out.
He must have changed since you saw him earlier. He has donned a dark blue waistcoat with shimmering embroideries of daises along the edges. A cape lined with white fur falls from his shoulders. He has tied his hair back, but stray hairs around his face refuse to cooperate. They are tucked behind his ears.
He is in the company of a young woman. You have seen them together before—at dinner or beyond the walls of the mansion. You did not expect to see her in the garden.
They seem engrossed in their conversation, heads tilted towards each other as they speak in hushed tones. He offers her his arm and she accepts. Slowly they follow the path. She says something and he laughs, his whole face lighting up to reveal delicate crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. One corner of his mouth rises further than the other, twisting his lips. He replies and the young woman join him in laughter.
Something sour turns in your stomach. Perhaps it would be better to read elsewhere. You close the book and stand, straightening your trousers and waistcoat. As an afterthought your roll your sleeves down.
To get back inside you have to walk past them.
They notice you as you approach. He smiles and greets you by name. If eyes could glimmer, his do. His arm is still closely linked with her's. You don a smile and hope it looks pleasant enough. He asks about the book; you thank him for the recommendation.
When you escape inside, your smile drops. The book weighs heavily in your hand.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad on Instagram)
You reach a natural pause on the page and look up at the sky to take a deep breath, as though you have surfaced from a deep dive. The air is cold and refreshing.
Up the path, between some leafs and branches, you see the glass door open. He steps out.
He must have changed since you saw him earlier. He has donned a dark blue waistcoat with shimmering embroideries of daises along the edges. A cape lined with white fur falls from his shoulders. He has tied his hair back, but stray hairs around his face refuse to cooperate. They are tucked behind his ears.
He is in the company of a young woman. You have seen them together before—at dinner or beyond the walls of the mansion. You did not expect to see her in the garden.
They seem engrossed in their conversation, heads tilted towards each other as they speak in hushed tones. He offers her his arm and she accepts. Slowly they follow the path. She says something and he laughs, his whole face lighting up to reveal delicate crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. One corner of his mouth rises further than the other, twisting his lips. He replies and the young woman join him in laughter.
Something sour turns in your stomach. Perhaps it would be better to read elsewhere. You close the book and stand, straightening your trousers and waistcoat. As an afterthought your roll your sleeves down.
To get back inside you have to walk past them.
They notice you as you approach. He smiles and greets you by name. If eyes could glimmer, his do. His arm is still closely linked with her's. You don a smile and hope it looks pleasant enough. He asks about the book; you thank him for the recommendation.
When you escape inside, your smile drops. The book weighs heavily in your hand.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad on Instagram)
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