Iris mournfully turned the handle on her door, only to have the icy gale rip it from her grasp. Clutching the door in a death grip, Iris wrenched the door shut behind her, leaning heavily on it, slid down to the floor.
"'Ris, 'Ris? Is that you, darling?" A warm motherly voice rang from down the hall.
"Yes, Mrs. McCormick," Iris called.
The elder woman looked down at Iris, taking in her place on the floor. "Look alive then," she laughed in her thick Scottish accent.
At Iris's lack of reply, she took her place on the floor beside her. "You've been to see him again." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Iris replied shortly, her face in her hands.
Mrs. McCormick's sigh was as heavy as the newly added weight on her shoulders. "And what, poppet, have I told you about that?" She questioned gently.
"That chasing impossible dreams will only end in hardship." Iris's voice was strangled with restrained tears.
"I don't mean to be harsh, child. I truly don't, but these illusions will not bring you any small amount of joy." Mrs. McCormick rounded off her argument before leading Iris to bed.
YOU ARE READING
Iris
RomanceHer name was elegant, her past was not. In clicking on this book you have found a story of unrequited infatuation. A story of a young woman trying to navigate her way through 1913's ever-changing world, as well as her own emotions. And the story of...
