Oct. 8th, 2012

lady_bols: (s3 6620)
He was supposed to nip down for another bottle of wine.  But he wasn't back yet, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch while she waited.

When she woke up, she heard the faint patter of raindrops against the window.  There was a presence in the room with her, one she recognised instantaneously. 

She was alone.  There was a shadow of a figure in the reflection in the window.  Dark clouds mirrored her shift in mood, and she could see the outline of his uniform coat as clear as crystal.  She never thought she'd see this visage of him again. She thought, somehow, she'd laid him to rest.  Again, she was wrong.

His smooth face was impassive, his one good eye so young.  She just looked at him, and thought her heart was breaking right then and there.  He'd been called back to Fenchurch, without taking her ring, without so much as a kiss.  And the only way she knew was the reflection of his ghost, half his face a dark, gaping wound.

He was gone, and this was all the goodbye she was going to get.

She blinked and the ghost was gone.  And she felt her knees give way.

She sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face, staring at her hands, her useless bloody hands.  She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually she collected herself and set about straightening the room.  She knew he'd have to go back some time, she just always thought she'd know ahead of time.  This is probably for the best, she thinks.  A quick break, and when he comes back, because he is coming back, she'll be all the more happy to see him.

She's chewing on her lip, sitting at the table making a list, when she hears the door open.

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December 2013

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