The branches flex in the wind, moving more gently than the brisk gusts would suggest. I wonder if they’re further away than I think, or bigger, or if I’m just dehydrated and exhausted and hallucinating. I wouldn’t be surprised. How long have I been out here, days? Maybe a week? I’m beyond recalling.
The room is still, like a breath held. Still not like absence, but with the feeling of something coming. Empty, curtains fluttering, the soft gray light of dawn seeping into every crack and crevice of the ancient floor.
Whether to go or stay. Whether to run or face the consequences of my actions.
It seems like such an easy choice. Any other day I would have run. I’ve done so in the past, every time.
This time… his eyes. I can’t get his eyes out of my head. Deep blue, and pleading.