Hildegarde Serle

It’s your heart that he really needs, not your hands.”

Having feared that she hadn’t earned Berenilde’s esteem, she now felt crushed under the weight of her expectations.

Hector was insatiably curious, asking his “why”s to anyone prepared to listen.

Ophelia tilted her head to see whether the sky was looking that menacing. She thought she was seeing things when, instead of clouds, she saw Thorn’s grim face.

Swings alive, aren’t we swaying rather too much?

When would you like me to return?”

“Me?”

When would you like me to return?”

“Me?”

When would you like me to return?”

“Me?”

Thorn leant over, in a sustained vertebral extension, but he didn’t return the watch to her. Instead, he placed his mouth on hers.

He thinks God’s hand is coming down to hit him, but it ruffles his hair, teasingly.