𝓛𝓪 𝓒𝔂𝓰𝓷𝓮 𝓮𝓽 𝓛𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾

Chapter 3. Drifted in what could've been

The obsidian haired woman could feel her heart waver at the thought. Such perfect little and simple life she ever wanted, pictured right in front of her eyes. A small family, two little adorable girls and of course. Her lover as the perfect and gentle husband she always longed for.

In the quiet recesses of her heart, she weaves dreams with threads of possibility, conjuring a vision of familial bliss in the tapestry of her mind. A woman, graceful as the weeping willow that sways gently in the embrace of a summer breeze, envisions a haven of love and laughter.

In the sanctuary of her imagination, a quaint cottage stands as a testament to the warmth she cradles within. Its timeworn stones tell tales of resilience, much like the stories she yearns to inscribe into the book of her perfect family. A garden blooms with the colors of shared joy, where petals whisper secrets of unity, and fragrances dance in harmony with the laughter of children yet unborn.

Through the lattice windows, sunlight bathes the rooms in a soft, golden glow, illuminating a kitchen where the aroma of shared meals becomes the heartbeat of their daily existence. In the heart of this cottage, a fireplace crackles, casting a dance of shadows on the walls, mirroring the flickering flame of her aspirations.

"Vous savez que je ne peux pas refuser vos douces paroles, ma chère... Je m'engage à rendre une telle imagerie certifiable." A silent plea was heard upon her words. Alana saw how the wind slowly carried her lover into it's embrace. The white snow flurries through her ebony hair as she desperately reached out to the only visage of her mind that reminds her of him.

As she leans over the edge, her heart suspended in the liminal space, she entreats the ghostly presence to linger, to manifest in the moon-kissed air. The balcony becomes a bridge between the corporeal and the spectral, a place where love, though intangible, resonates with a poignant intensity.

In this nocturnal ballet, the woman clings to the edge of her reality, fingers brushing against the veil that separates her from the ghostly lover who exists as a whisper in the corridors of memory. The balcony witnesses the delicate choreography of a heart yearning to hold onto the intangible, a dance that transcends the boundaries of both the living and the lingering spirits of love.

She climbed over the railing of the balcony, desperately trying to chase after him. The woman's eye was so full of hope after years upon years of mourning, she will be reunited once again.

Yet, her action was suddenly came into halt by a pair of gentle gloved hands. "Madamé! Dear god, please get down from the railing!" The silver blonde man shouted in dismay. His arms snatched her off of the balcony and back into the warm embrace of her manor.

Silken rivulets cascade from her eyes, each droplet a testament to the weight of a world unseen. In the safety of his embrace, the butler transforms into a haven, absorbing the echo of her silent cries like a tapestry woven with threads of empathy.

The air is heavy with the scent of anguish, yet within this shared silence, a profound understanding blossoms. His tailored attire is not just a uniform, but a shield against the tempest of her emotions, and his calm demeanor, a balm to the storm raging within her soul.

She weeps, not merely tears, but fragments of a fractured heart that find solace in the understated nobility of his presence. His arm, steady and unwavering, becomes a lifeline, gently anchoring her in the tumultuous sea of emotions.

As moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow upon their shared vulnerability, the butler stands as a silent guardian, a keeper of secrets and a witness to the unspoken pain etched across her face.

In this intimate moment, tears become a sacred language, spoken in the quietude of a butler's embrace. He, the custodian of grace, holds her tears with the reverence of a precious offering, and in that shared vulnerability, they forge a connection that transcends the boundaries of servant and mistress.

For in the tapestry of human emotions, woven with threads of joy and sorrow, the woman finds sanctuary in the compassionate strength of her butler, and he, in turn, becomes the stoic guardian of her tears, a silent witness to the beauty born of shared pain.