62. Fingertips smudged in blue ink
The crisp sounds of crumpled paper cut through the midnight silence. Candlelight flickered across the walls, sending the shadows dancing to an imaginary waltz. A wadded-up ball of parchment flies across the room, bouncing off the bin and skittering across the floor to join the ranks of failed letters.
A sharp sigh is accompanied by the soft thud of a quill clicking against the desk top. The woman leans back in her chair, lines bunching between a frustrated brow as she reaches back to remove the ties keeping her hair bound up. Streaks of bluish ink leave a trail as she accidentally grazes her fingertips against her cheek. She brushes back the dark locks as they curtained around her face, eyes sightlessly gazing into the past as she contemplates what words she could say to make things right.
A clock chimes in another room, bringing her to the present. Dying embers glow in the fireplace, the chill in the air making her shiver. She returns the quill to its stand, accepting defeat as exhaustion settles around her shoulder and coaxes her to bed. The door swing closed behind her and the wooden floorboards creak softly as she returns to the room she was given.
Cold water splashes into a washbasin and she dips her ink-stained hands into the pool. She watches as crystal clear bleeds to blue. How many times before had she watched something similar happen, only the waters were left a shade of scarlet? How would she ever find the words, and how would he ever forgive her for what she had done?
@communitycatboy thank you so much for sending in this prompt! It was a lot of fun to write again!
If anyone else wants to send in a prompt, the list is HERE.
