It was dark, those woods, and the gnarled black trees grew thicker and more twisted with every step. Strange howls and shrieks filled the air and a murder of crows and a conspiracy of ravens with blood-red eyes encircled her. Sensing her obstinance, some swooped down to nip at her skirts and tear at her flesh, but she slapped them away. She stumbled on at a desperate pace, but her skirts were so heavy and sodden, iron bands constricted her ribs, and her body was suddenly fat and ungainly. The figure of a man, tall and dark, was just ahead of her, but she was falling behind. She wanted to call out to him, but found that she had no voice. It didn't matter: she must catch up to him. She must. She couldn't see his face, didn't know his name or even her own, but knew that he was the only way out of this darkness. She tripped over something again and this time, it was as if a human hand had reached out and wrapped its fingers around her ankle and she fell hard, landing facefirst into the wet black earth and she could feel its dampness on her cheek. The man paused and turned then, and her heart beat as wildly as a horse's thundering hooves, but there was no face at all, only a smooth blank, and at the sight of her as a crumpled heap, he gave a soft laugh and turned, the figure growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely.
She awoke with a start: she had fallen asleep on her stomach with her cheek pressed against the damp pillowcase. Blurred and stupid from her short heavy sleep, she winced as she rose out of bed: her eyes smarted, temples throbbed, her head felt swollen, and every joint in her body creaked. She had haphazardly attempted to unlace herself after stumbling into her room, but it seemed as if she had failed even at that; it was a wonder that she did not suffocate in her sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she surveyed her surroundings: the room was still heavily cloaked in darkness, but Scarlett could see weak rays of light begin to penetrate through the heavy plush curtains. Wrenching them back, she had to turn her head away, coughing at the cloud of dust.
Scarlett left her room, closing the door quietly behind her. She had never walked alone in the house this early in the morning before and it felt as if she were truly seeing everything for the first time. As she made her way down the hall, she noticed that there were cracks in several of the lamps and the oil in each one needed to be changed; there were muddy footprints on the carpet and the wallpaper was peeling. Apparently the staff had decided to take it easy these last few weeks; she would give them all a good scolding.
Entering Wade's room, Scarlett could see that neither of them had changed into their nightclothes. Wade was sound asleep in an armchair and Ella was curled up on his bed like a newborn babe with her arms wrapped securely around a dog's neck. That must be Wade's dog…she had never bothered to ask him what its name was…Scarlett softly padded over to Wade, lightly running her fingertips through his curls: he needed a haircut. They both did. Turning to the bed, she could see half-dried tear tracks on Ella's face, the residual puffiness around her eyes; Scarlett sighed at the scuff marks on her shoes and her tattered dress. They needed new clothes as well…she would take them out shopping; she couldn't remember the last time she had done so with the two of them…Melly had always paid attention to these things. Melly….
The door to Rhett's room was open, but she found herself frozen at the threshold. She was being a goose. What was a room anyway? People lived in them and died in them; in a few weeks, the scent would be gone and the room could have belonged to anybody. She entered. The closet was empty, its open doors a gaping wound. The elaborately carved mahogany chest loomed over her; she opened one of the drawers, her hand curving around a carved lion with a grotesque grin and blind wooden eyes: it was empty as well. She ran a hand along the mantelpiece: it needed to be dusted as well; there was an overflowing ash tray and dusty outlines where picture frames once stood. Absurdly, his bed was made, but the small one next to it was not. There were creases in the pillowcase, the coverlet was rumpled, and there was an indent in the center: it had not been touched or laundered since it was last used. He must have slept next to the corpse. Well. At least he wasn't alone; Melly must have been by his side, standing vigil. Two's company, three's a crowd, she thought and she had to stifle a snort. She would have the sheets stripped and the mattresses removed, but she would keep the bed frames and furniture; they were expensive hand-carved imports from Europe.
There was a thick layer of dust on the railing; she hadn't noticed yesterday when she had run down the staircase. Her hands were grimy and…she was still clinging to the handkerchief. She looked at it curiously, rubbing the soft fabric in between her slim fingers. She pressed it to her face; her throat tightened painfully and stomach clenched. She immediately pulled it away, crumpling it as tightly as she could in one fist. I thought yesterday was goodbye. No, this is goodbye. She threw it into the nearest wastebasket.
Scarlett made her way to the front door and opened it, stepping out. There was not a soul in sight. The stifling mist still blanketed the town, its tantalizing fingers spread wide…but its reach was beginning to exceed its grasp as the sun's relentless rays began to loosen its stranglehold. Scarlett watched as the sun continued its ascent into the sky. She watched as the sun blossomed, its golden petals banishing the blue hour. She drank in the sight of morning dew, the smell of freshly cut grass, and the brisk chill of the autumn air. Yellow, orange, and red leaves blanketed the pathway and they crunched under her feet as she strolled across the front yard. The trees laughed, their rustling branches composing their own sweet melody. A fat brown squirrel, with his tail held proudly in the air, chased his mate into a burrow; sparrows scolded one another in twittering shrieks, a tomcat with astonishing blue eyes leered at her before darting across the dirt pathway and into the shadows, and a robin, its chest a brilliant crimson, cocked its head at the sight of her, narrowing its beady black eyes as it sat possessively on top of several spotted blue eggs. The warm light bathed her stiff and sore body and kissed her cheeks to a heady blush, darkening her eyes to emerald.
It suddenly didn't hurt so much anymore…perhaps she wouldn't be so severe. Melly had wanted her to be kind, after all. They would have a simple breakfast that morning: bacon and eggs, toast, and a pot of hot tea, something simple yet hearty. She raked her eyes over the landscape once more before shutting the door: she was certain that there had never been a more beautiful morning.