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Vertiline unpicked a stitch, the winter sunlight ran in cold silver ribbons around her fingers, dust fell in sparkling shards around her and slowly swept around the attic room.
She looked at her jumbled box of threads, every one that had weaved their way into different moments of her life...
...the coral in a patched blouse, the racing green sewn into a train seat, the leftover ivory that held together letters from her dear friend Beatrice.
Her hand reached towards the box, fingers tumbling through the threads as she searched for her grey silk ribbon, the last strands from her dress, the one she wore when she met Him.
So long ago, at dusk, in a room decked with glittering garlands and oppressive candlelight, she felt the heat of the crowded party overwhelm her
She had drawn her fringed Chinese shawl around herself, walked out into the cool and let her eyes rest on the yew trees in the distance.
A lazy echo of footsteps behind her brought a man with dark sparkling eyes to her side, amber light glinted from within them when he smiled.
And how he smiled. From then... and far on through a multitude of rooms, cabins, carriages and lands. By the shore and through the nights.
She slid the ribbon through her fingers, the scent of the yew seemed to rise and sink into her skin. A dark forest appeared in her mind, she clambered inside and set to roaming there...
Memories: lace and jewels, the snap of wolves, the myrrh smoke, wine dripping from her fingers, a fever breaking, a magpie sweeping down from a storming sky.
She sat, dreams had filled her eyes. Letting out a small sigh, she snipped the ribbon in half and began to sew.
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