She could barely see the house. The darkness of the falling evening was deep, and the sky brooded over the rolling hills, blotting out the stars. She could not see the earth at her feet, yet she knew every tree and every stone that stood between her and the cottage in the distance. Tiny squares of golden light shone faintly, and she imagined the family within, eating their supper at the long, wooden table, while the fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth. Perhaps the sons were regaling their parents with tales about their day, or perhaps the man was casting tender glances at his wife over the boys' heads. They were kind folk, and to her mind, the scene inside those four, cozy walls was doubtlessly idyllic. After all, the house had been a place of such love, for so many years. Surely it had seeped into the floorboards and the walls and affected the very air that its new residents now breathed.
A few snowflakes fluttered past her cheeks, dancing over her skin. The scene before her did not change as she stood there, hour after hour, save for a thickening of the night's shadows.
Her mind, however, drifted quietly through a countless series of memories. And though her gaze lingered on the distant cottage, her eyes swam out of focus now and again, as the past flitted through her consciousness. Her pale brow was softly pinched, and a gentle, wistful smile sat upon her lips.
As the night deepened, and the little copse of trees donned a ghostly sheet of snow, her hand moved to her throat. Half-gloved fingers touched the silver brooch there, and she turned at last to look north. The high bluffs rose towards the sky, black upon black, and her smile ebbed away. A long, deep sigh lifted her shoulders, and was exhaled again.
In the morning, she would pay a call to the cottage.
