Onze : Frost and Farewell

4 0 0
                                    

FROST AND FAREWELL

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

FROST AND FAREWELL

“The scariest thing about distance is that you don’t know whether they’ll miss you or forget you.” — Nicholas Sparks

Eiser leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a weary sigh.

The papers scattered on his desk blurred together, none of them holding his attention anymore. Something gnawed at him, an uneasy feeling that refused to be silenced.

His gaze drifted toward the door of his office, and after a moment of hesitation, he pushed back his chair and stood.

As he stepped into the hallway, his feet instinctively carried him to the guest bedroom. He paused outside the door, staring at it as if expecting it to tell him what he was feeling.

He raised his hand and knocked softly.

No answer.

Frowning, he knocked again, this time firmer. Still no response.

Eiser’s hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitation evident in his rigid stance.

Then, as though compelled by the unease tightening in his chest, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

The room was still undisturbed, the bed neatly made, no sign of recent presence. His eyes swept over the tidy surfaces, his unease deepening.

Slowly, he closed the door behind him and walked back into the hallway.

He strode toward the library next, his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors. Pulling the grand double doors open, he scanned the shelves and the armchairs nestled between them.

But the library, too, was empty.

His jaw tightened as he turned and made his way downstairs, each step slower. He pushed open the door to the gallery room, where she had often sat facing the large paintings, lost in her thoughts.

But tonight, there was no figure in the seat by the window, no quiet presence filling the room.

He closed the door with a sharp click, the sound punctuating the growing tension in his chest. The music room was his last hope. She had spent hours there, perfecting her cello under Mrs. Montgomery’s guidance.

The door creaked open, and Eiser’s eyes swept over the elegant piano, the cello resting in its stand, and the empty room.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took a step back, a gnawing frustration bubbling beneath his calm facade.

Eiser stood there for a moment, the stillness of the mansion closing in around him.

Something wasn’t right.

The thought whispered through his mind, louder and clearer with each passing second.

She wasn’t here.

Lonely Hearts (2024)Where stories live. Discover now