Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot
It was a proper Wednesday.
There were no melodramatics of the everyday, mundane life. No annoyances, or catastrophes that needed dealings with.
No, all that was seen was a man that sat at a long, rectangular table, drinking tea at exactly 4:38, facing a woman- who was going through a similar activity, though she was reading the day's paper.
It was no sight to behold, nothing out of the ordinary. If someone were to look through the window, they would think the actions of what was happening in the rather large house was perfectly normal. A simple, handsomely dressed couple, drinking their tea; though if one were to look closely, the would see that nothing about the pair were simple at all.
In a moment, the man would lay his now empty cup on a small plate, and almost like magic, the most curious creature would come to pick it up and disappear with a barely audible pop! or perhaps a most conspicuous crack!
And, as the man drained the last dregs of tea- that contained milk, three clumps of sugar, and lemon- the creature did in fact come, and did, in fact, disappear with a small pop! to an unknown place. For anyone else to witness such a thing, they would have marveled at where the creature had gone. But not the man, no. Instead, he carefully pulled back his chair, and made his way to the woman who sat on the other side, taking her hand as he lead the paper away from her unseeing eyes.
They were blue.
He offered no words, and the woman seemed to agree, as she stemmed no conversation. And simply as can be, the two disappeared down an opulently decorated corridor, to a sitting room that held intimate chairs. The room was painted a soft cream, and held accents of pale-teal and the slightest hints of silver, or maybe white gold.
The chairs, however, stood out as a marigold, velvet yellow. Contrasting quite astonishingly with the blue and white room.
The man and woman sat down, and the latter fumbled around the chair until her hand rested on the smooth feelings of paper, and she picked it up, and held it in front of her face. Her blue eyes slipping out of temporary focus.
The man, however, simply sighed, and smiled at her, pushing a lock of her golden brown hair out of her angular, thin face. She didn't move, and kept staring into the unknown distance.
He shot a wry grin to the decorated ceiling, and grabbed her hand. She had not spoken in some time- not for years really- but in truth, he was content. Kept in a moment with simple, supple signs of what was once overwhelming love.
It didn't matter that his wife no longer remembered him.
And so the two stared out into the high sun, and looked over the swaying trees and vines of their vast estate. Both lost in the touch to each other for exceptionally different reasons.