“Anton is dying.”
The note from Hortense is terse, the icy subtext clear. His former lover, Sasha is not welcome at the bedside.
Sasha would like to think Hortense has extended a courtesy; more likely though that Anton’s insecure young wife intends to perpetuate her rival’s suffering indefinitely.
She gazes out over the rooftops of Charmes. The colourfully glazed tiles of Anton’s house glow vibrantly in the morning sun.
Will she sense when it’s over? How could she not?
Suddenly a gentle breeze stirs. Cinnamon cedes to brown, dandelion dulls to ochre as emerald ebbs towards sage.
And Sasha knows.
Happy little soul, ain’t I? Well, I did warn you about me and November. On the move again today, driving back through France after a brief visit to ‘winterize’ the boat and prepare her for sale in the spring. 😦 The photo prompt this week was taken on one of our cruises a couple of years ago, in the pretty little town of Charmes, situated in the Vosges region of le Grand Est, between Nancy and Epinal. Happy times! Thanks to Rochelle as ever for her leadership of the Friday Fictioneers over the last four years. The girl done good.