Chapter 34
Whilst I ponder I doth seek
An empty cradle board oh tattered shoes a rattle smashed across the room. A spinning wheel full of rust covered thickly in dust a feather fed straw on the floor tipi smoke. Blood and death abhorred. A sunken ship all battle worn. A rams horn to warn of great storms. A gallows creak a dungeons howl poisoned flasks held in deaths grip but sadly they doth took that final sip...
The scent of dust, a familiar perfume, clung to the air in the study. It was a comforting weight, a tangible reminder of the years spent within these walls, each mote a silent witness to the unfolding of Amy’s internal world. Today, however, the dust seemed to stir with a different kind of energy, a restless anticipation. She reached for a sheaf of papers, their edges softened by time and countless touches, and her eyes fell upon a poem that seemed to shimmer with an ancient sorrow.
Where shadows writhe and specters creep,
A cradle rocks, its promise deep.
But emptiness, a hollow sound,
Where life's sweet melody was found.
The tattered shoes, a silent plea,
For steps that walk no more with me.
A rattle smashed, a fragile toy,
Bereft of laughter, stripped of joy.
Her breath hitched. The words, born from a grief so profound it had etched itself into the very fabric of her being, resonated with a fresh ache. It was the ghost of a child, a presence that haunted the periphery of her days, a loss so absolute it had become a phantom limb of her soul. The spinning wheel, its once-lustrous wood now encrusted with rust and dust, stood as a silent sentinel to a life that had never truly begun, its purpose unfulfilled, its turning forever stilled. The tipi smoke, a phantom scent, evoked images of warmth and belonging, a stark contrast to the chilling emptiness that now permeated her existence.
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