It was Christmas Eve morning and all within the castle still peacefully slumbered; but for that one soul; wandering, but no longer lost, or alone. She stood by the French doors, wrapped in her robe of paisley silk, unconsciously rubbing her finger along the strand of garnet beads that adorned her neck forevermore; her gaze taking her past the veranda, to the magical forest beyond, coming to life before her eyes.
Daylight was breaking and the light shown pale pink; illuminating the barren branches and blanketing the snow. The air was frigid on the other side of the doors, but inside she was comfortable, safe and warm; her senses filled with the spicy, rich earthiness that permeated throughout every room; inspiring her to soar, free from the bonds of everyday life, grasping that which dwelled within the depths of her soul.
She’d never known such happiness, never felt so at peace, never found a place in this world where she so effortlessly slipped and naturally fit, as she did within those castle walls; walls that seemed to whisper her name, filled with treasures she found most pleasing, a feast for her eyes to behold; expectantly extracting her very essence and graciously welcoming her home.
©2010 by Jill Terry