He stood, as usual, behind one of the pillars, unseen, waiting for her to emerge for her usual early morning walk, silk parasol in a gloved hand.
It was their routine, part of their pattern of life – he would watch, she would walk. And after her walk, she would re-enter the hall, he would return to the village, to the forge.
This was the pattern that sustained him, that kept him alive despite the grind of his life, of his surroundings.
In the afternoons, suitably chaperoned, she would receive eligible young men in the drawing room.
Soon she would wed.
This for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly 100 word challenge.