Night arrived, end of day, she was alone and home was still. Home was quiet in peace that settled and came in last moment of day’s live before submission of wake’s will back to the realm of dream.
In quiet of night-settled peace, she rested in seat alone, wooden chair at head of table, in heart of home and room painted in romance hue. In light cast of long stemmed candles lit, their sides in adorn of hardened wax in beaded path from melt and running trail along length of long stem’s remain, she read a story that welcomed there, awaiting just for then.
Reading, her fingers pet along her collar, grace-soothe and quiet intimate as the story and its way. She smiled, feeling the warmth of amber light over face and bare armed skin, finger’s move from collar’s touch to play of night gown’s inner-edge, a smile on her mouth, white teeth and thin drawn lips, as she felt heart and soul in warmth.
She read, believed, and after rose to chamber of her bed willing dreams and spirit to the same of story’s tell.
*****
He paid attention to the nuance, small and subtle notice of change one only sees in attraction and attention-draw to other: way she only viewed and read at night in time she was alone, time she lent to read and think and immerse into story and it’s tell; read in quietness and still of home, by reading lamp or candle light when rest of home was dark; the peace that came into her spirit, whether night our or story’s soothe that spoke and touched to something in her soul.
He paid attention to the nuance, discerning what no sense could see or prove. He trusted intuition and let such lead of and from the heart.
He wrote. He told, left them there believing she would find; that she would read, immerse, and too believe in shared stories, dreams, and scenes.