Disclaimer: Dustfinger and the Inkheart Trilogy are the property of Cornelia Funke. I am not Cornelia Funke. I appreciate your condolences.
Author's Note: For some reason, this whole event just fascinates me. Expect to see it pop up again.
Prompt #6: Hours
Dustfinger sighed as he cast a glance skyward, toward the sun, wondering precisely how long he had been waiting.
"It's not a good time," Silvertongue had told him we'd he'd knocked on the book-binder's door the previous night. "Why don't you come back tomorrow. Sometime after noon."
And so he had done, only to find no car in the driveway and no answer at the door.
"So we'll wait," he had said to himself, taking a seat on the front porch steps. Sure he would be back soon...
But that had been hours ago. Hours during which he had watched the sun sink slowly in the sky--and his heart along with it.
By now he was quite tired of waiting, more than a bit frustrated, and ravenously hungry. He glanced back at the door--or more specifically the lock--as a slightly shady solution presented itself.
Silvertongue wouldn't be at all happy if he caught him, but so what? Then they would be even.
He allowed himself a small, triumphant smile as the lock clicked and he opened the door.
The smile vanished as he stood at the threshold, staring at the bookshelves that stood in the living room.
They were empty.