The Doyle Household- London, England
Gemma Doyle, Lady of Hope
I watched rain carving rivulets and paths down the glass windows. From where I was sitting I couldn't see anything but darkness, but I knew Kartik was out there, sleeping on the small cot in the stable.
I sighed and pressed my forehead against the glass, my breath creating small puffs of smoke on the delicate glass panes.
I stared at my reflection, a vague suggestion of my real face that faded into blackness and rain at mid-chin.
Kartik was there. I couldn't see him and I couldn't hear him, but he was there.
Simply allowing myself to think of him was excruciating. I could feel an ache between my rib bones – the beginnings of a bruised heart.