Hollow, grim, the wind she comes

Shadows danced on the walls in the dim light of the half-burned candle. The wax dripped along the dark stains of the ancient silver holder. The scent was almost musty, as if the candle knew of its age, and shamelessly flaunted the dust that caked its body.

Edith stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the window. Fitting, she thought. I feel as if I have a layer of dust atop my skin as well. Her cool, grey eyes stared back, hovering amongst the dark trees in the wood beyond. Edith had nowhere to go, and nowhere to be. She listlessly felt the crisp paper of the letters on the desk at which she sat, as she continued staring ahead.

It was late. She had lost track of time. There was no way to know how long she had sat at her desk, staring into the dark night. She sighed, not having the energy to take herself to bed, but slowly being drained from replaying everything in her head. How could you have let it come this far? What are you to do now?

Atop the desk sat an oval-shaped frame, in which was a faded, black-and-white picture. Their wedding day. Even through the layer of grime on the glass, the pureness of her white dress shown through. Edith reached up and felt her right earlobe, as if the silver earring were still hanging there, daintily.

Even after everything that had happened, she still felt a sense of longing for the happiness of that day. The blissful ignorance of not knowing the man she was marrying would one day break her heart, and dessert her here in this dark and empty house.

A gust of wind blew outside, shaking the wooden frame. Inside, a chill drifted up to the room where Edith sat on the second floor. It was as if the gale had let itself in. Edith glanced towards the door, as if to greet the gust. She nodded in the open door’s direction, admitting the cool air into the room, welcoming it as a new guest.

Turning back, she noticed a flutter beyond the glass. A brown and white barn owl had flown from the dark abyss and perched on the leafless tree just beyond the house. It shuffled its feathers, arranging itself in a more comfortable manner, before settling in to stare directly into Edith’s eyes.

And who might you be? Come to peer knowingly upon me in my dismay? Old wise one?

The owl assumed a statue-like stance, barely blinking. Its large, wide eyes loomed ahead. Edith’s own eyes reflected in the glass exactly parallel to the owl’s, overlapping with them. As if the owl were her own reflection staring back.

“Of course, I always had an inkling,” she spoke aloud, softly but defiantly.

The owl merely stared back.

“There had been gossip. Ladies in the village mentioning how he would glance their way seductively.” She looked down, evading the owl’s stare. “How shocking it was that a man so handsome had married a woman so…plain.” A tear quietly streamed from Edith’s left eye. It trickled down her cheek, leaving a cool, wet trail striped down her face.

“But he had no right. No right to just abandon me. Just as the winter is upon us.” Edith’s eyes shot back up to the window, meeting the gaze of the owl. The owl blinked in recognition of Edith’s return.

Another gust shook the house. The old, wooden walls were not well insulated, and the cold air seeped into the room. The candle flickered but withstood the attack on its flame, defiant and determined.

The owl spun its head to the darkness beyond. Edith hadn’t heard anything, but the wind had picked up. The candle flame flickered stronger, casting even stranger shadows about the room.

The owl swiveled back to face Edith and let out a series of hoots. As if to say: Be like the candle, Edith. You must withstand this attack. You must persevere.

Then, as quickly as it had arrived, the owl departed. Edith barely saw it unfold its wings as it flew away.

“He’s right,” Edith said, her voice stronger than before. “I can survive this. I must.”

She reached forward and lifted the letter from the desk. Holding it to the flame, she admired one last time her husband’s artful penmanship. Long, flowing cursive that seemed to dance across the beige parchment.

She knew she’d never forget the words of the letter. Of her husband telling her of his departure, never to return. His plans to board a ship to the New World, chase his dreams that he had forsaken with her. She held the bottom right corner of the letter closer to the flame and watched as the fire flicked closer and closer to the parchment.

A slight burn began to take hold on the very outermost edges, darkness beginning to take root. The blackness spread like a cancer, gaining speed as it enveloped the ink. Edith watched as the words fell into the vast darkness. The words which she had read over and over again all day. Words she had spilt tears over. Words which she had thought would bring about her own demise. Edith held the paper until the flames got so close to her fingers, she could feel the warmth they emanated. She did not find the heat terrifying. She found it liberating.

Effortlessly, Edith dropped the burning letter. It floated to the ground, a charred relic of her past.

Another gust of wind shook the house, but Edith paid it no mind. She stood and floated to the doorway of the bedroom. Without looking back, she drifted on, out of the room and down the stairs. The wind at her heels, a weight lifted off her heart.