Thanks to you all for your wonderful support.
For this chapter I've been inspired by this winter's last flick of tail. In Italy we experienced a week of sunny days and blue sky before returning to rain, wind and cold. I'm so frustrated, I was already wearing T-shirts *sgrunt*
Four.
The storm has been raging outside for at least three hours now.
The heat that made him suffer so much has finally given way to a powerful and earth-shaking downpour: he can hear the thunder threatening the dark clouds, the rain echoing its mighty cry.
He is quite pleased, for winter has finally shown up again, and it's fighting the coming of spring with a last, desperate and powerful flick of its tail.
He isn't particularly fond of storms but he has never disliked them either - he has always believed them to be quite liberating.
A storm is a chance to purify one's soul, to wash away one's faults.
He is but a miserable sinner, and he has sinned quite badly.
Charles communicates with Mrs Patmore in the kitchen, his voice is barely audible amongst the lively chatter of kitchen maids stirring soup and cooking dinner in pots and pans, combined with the thundering of the tempest.
He requests a tray with two cups of tea and a few biscuits: he means it as a peace offering. For her.
He can't stay too much away from her, he knows. She is his Achilles' heel.
He can't resist her, just as winter can't resist the temptation to turn into spring.
Everything rotates around her, Elsie is his magnetic pole, she keeps him in check without knowing it.
Charles knocks on her door quietly before entering. She is looking out of the widow, admiring the raindrops falling on the glass and sliding down the surface.
She turns, looks at him expectantly. Her eyes don't reflect the grey shade of the sky, they glimmer in dim light. They cast back the shining light of fire, the dangerous heat of coals.
It's time for his purification, his catharsis. And she is his ministrant.
300 words again. Yessss.