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Date Posted: 13:39:47 05/05/11 Thu
Author: celtgirl ()
Subject: Here is one of those snippets that didn't grow up to become a full grown piece>>>
In reply to: celtgirl 's message, "" on 13:33:03 05/05/11 Thu

copyright 2011 Cindy Brandner


It was just that sort of house, where it was hard to say if the enchantment had simply been hanging there in the air only waiting for the right pair of hands to build it, or if the hands themselves were enchanted that pulled this house out of the airy realm, into that of blueprints and stone and wood, of angles and load bearing walls and trusses. Of glass and wrought iron, twisted into the shapes of fantastical and grotesque beasts, of steps that went up and then down, that twisted round corners and into nooks, of broad stone sills where a grown person might sit cozily with a book or press a palm to frosted window pane, hidden all the time behind heavy draperies. Where one could picture a woman waiting for a lover, gazing down at the avenue of lime trees from the octagonal window in the upstairs bedroom. Bare vines rattled against the windows in the November wind, but in the summer their greenery would press against the windows, bringing the outdoors in, making the house seem even more a part of its landscape.

She sat at the desk and watched the sunset come and lay its waterpaints over the canvas of bare lime branches and snow, softening the rough trunks and spilling down the twisting drive. It was very peaceful here, and so beautifully tucked away that it was hard to believe Paris was out there, only a brisk walk in the snow and falling light. The twilight stole in softly, pooling on the floor, curling upon the carpets like feline spirals of heavy smoke, slipping over the delicate lip of her teacup, turning its amber contents garnet. It solidified as though smoke took form, and sat upon the chairs in ancient costume- waistcoat and brassed buttons, silk stockings and embroidered satin. A tendril of twilight slipped off, trailing its finger along her spine, a shiver spreading out in its wake, as though a ghost stood behind her and touched her through the veil of two hundred years.

Madame Felice called her for dinner, and she was swiftly returned to the solid world with a dose of hearty Provencal cooking, a beef stew flavoured with thyme and garlic and peppercorns and red wine, the latter of which was also in a bottle upon the table, breathing out earthy notes. She asked Madame to eat with her, and the woman, after a shrewdly assessing look, acquiesced.

“Have you lived here for long?” Pamela asked, after eating two full bowls of stew, and drinking a glass of the red wine, which was exquisite.

“Since I was widowed. It has been about ten years now, before I worked here on a weekly basis, when I was needed.” The woman laid her work-roughened hands on the table, her nutbrown face troubled.

“I think there are things you have come here to search out, Madame, and there are things here that Monsieur left in my care, should you come. I would like you to be comfortable though for the story is not a short one, nor entirely easy.”

Pamela poured them each another glass of wine, she had a feeling the fortification was going to be necessary. Around them the house seemed to sigh, as if it had been waiting for this story as well. The delft tiles gleamed from behind the stone sink, and the wavy thickset glass in the windows reflected back the cozy surroundings.

Last edited by author: Thu May 05, 2011 14:15:46   Edited 1 time.

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