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She bounced merrily in her seat while the sun dove behind the slumbering, bare trees beyond the glass which fogged ever so slightly with my breath.
My father, as usual, was empty. His facade was well placed though, and unless you were to take the time to study him closely, you would not know he desired to be by himself in his room of quiet desolation.
Just the week before news arrived of his passing, he had written asking us for prayer; something he had never bothered with before.
Perhaps I’ll dance with Greta tonight.” Something in my chest cracked open and I frowned, bringing my arms tightly around myself in some sort of attempt to shield the way I was falling apart. “Perhaps, Miss Abbott,” William leaned in, his cool breath tickling my cheek. “Perhaps I’ll dance with you as well.”
