Mary shivered - it was cold too. She wondered whether any sunlight had ever penetrated the darkness of her new home. This forsaken place. Or was it she who was forsaken?
She couldn’t remember.
She couldn’t remember much these days. Not since she gave up.
Once upon a time she had tried. Awoken each morning with a sense of purpose. She’d gotten dressed and proceeded with the day as if it mattered. As if anything mattered.
Now she just went on.
She’d keep going on, she supposed, like the stones that kept holding up the manor despite all the time that passed, all the days and all the forgotten inhabitants.
“What do you think, my dear?” Tristan asked, pulling her forward by the arm a little too suddenly so she stumbled. “Won’t this be the perfect home for children?”
“Children?” Mary shuddered at the thought of bringing innocents to live in such a place, but Tristan went on as though he hadn’t noticed.
“You’ll feel better here, dearest,” Tristan promised. “Everything will be better now.”
Mary doubted that, but she went on anyway, following him as he showed her around her new cage.
------------
I haven't shared any of my writing in a while (what a slacker!), so I thought I'd share these scribbles from last night. Sorry it's a bit dark - I've been binge reading some of my favourite first wave feminists again and they always know how to kick me in the feels.
No comments:
Post a Comment