Start of a story, untitled - original (date unknown, unfinished)
She would always remember the night he first called her to his room. It was cold, rainy, a day when you knew something would happen, something bad. The cold from without seemed to seep into the house through the cracks in the windows and the walls.
Her footsteps were silent as she walked down the hall. When she reached his room, the door opened just as silently, and she stood there in the flickering candlelight, her eyes watching him warily, knowledge of what was about to happen deep in her dark eyes.
He stared at her, finding himself unable to order her further into the room. The look in her eyes tore at him, for it told him quite plainly that she knew what he had plans to do. Taking a step closer to her, his hand reached out to touch a lock of her that rested over her shoulder, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. A shiver ran through her body when his fingers lightly gazed the soft material of her nightgown, and he dropped his hand, stepping back from her. His voice was low, but still carried power, the same power that had driven her to his room in the beginning. “Go.”
Leaving the room as quietly as she had entered it, the only sound as she made the return trip to her room the cry of the newborn child further down the hall, followed by the sounds of her mother’s voice, soothing the child.
She would always remember the day it finally happened. It was no surprise to her, for she could see the desire in his eyes every time he looked at her. That night he had called her to his room was not surprising; what had been surprising was the way he’d stared at her, and then ordered her out.
Her footsteps were silent as she walked down the hall. When she reached his room, the door opened just as silently, and she stood there in the flickering candlelight, her eyes watching him warily, knowledge of what was about to happen deep in her dark eyes.
He stared at her, finding himself unable to order her further into the room. The look in her eyes tore at him, for it told him quite plainly that she knew what he had plans to do. Taking a step closer to her, his hand reached out to touch a lock of her that rested over her shoulder, letting the silky strands run through his fingers. A shiver ran through her body when his fingers lightly gazed the soft material of her nightgown, and he dropped his hand, stepping back from her. His voice was low, but still carried power, the same power that had driven her to his room in the beginning. “Go.”
Leaving the room as quietly as she had entered it, the only sound as she made the return trip to her room the cry of the newborn child further down the hall, followed by the sounds of her mother’s voice, soothing the child.
She would always remember the day it finally happened. It was no surprise to her, for she could see the desire in his eyes every time he looked at her. That night he had called her to his room was not surprising; what had been surprising was the way he’d stared at her, and then ordered her out.