She best liked the days that matched her mood. These foggy, chilled mornings drew her out of her meager cabin and along the stream, into herself. When the sun hung like this, low and blurry, she could stare without squinting until she felt it open, much as she imagined a secret trapdoor releasing in her mind that would burst open with all of her unchosen possibilities. When the cool damp air soaked through to her pale skin, she would wind her rainbow-colored scarf a little tighter around her neck and wander on the icy bank, looking for the danger ahead.

My 100-word contribution to this week’s Friday Fictioneers linkup. What do you have to say about this picture?


5 thoughts on “Treachery

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