I open a small door of the cottage, although the loneliness of time, and with a creaking of rusty hinges. It was a small rustic house in the middle of a forest, away from the big cities.
The house consisted of three divisions, a bathroom, a bedroom and a small cellar, which served for arrangements. All the windows were sealed with tablets to prevent the sunlight to enter. Now rested, it is night and the moon gives an air plated the forest. The evening breeze is the same as hundreds of years ago, with a fresh smell of pine trees.
My steps echo through the room stone, firelight, making silence seem even heavier. Neither the red carpet softens the environment. Stop in front of a large Baroque-style mirror in golden tones. I look at myself. I see a tall man, of long black hair. The much pale skin, but with my traits ever, young as I can remember.
eye with sadness for what was and what I am now ... I open a bottle of wine, which was in a cellar shelf, that many years kept. I take a cup and fill and look at the exterior of the house, the leaves almost naked, made a sound that reminded me of the past, in which I was different.
The breeze passing the tops of the trees made me remember the day I met my red hair Lady ...
