The morning after.

The morning air was cold and starchy crisp. Vaughn lifted the collar of his coat, placed his top hat on his head and started down the street. Within a few steps, his feet were numb. Mist puffed out of his mouth with each breath and across the road  the grass was covered in frost. His lungs felt like there were freezing from the inside. He tilted his head up, a man should look to the heavens when they favored him. Above, the clouds were blueish-grey, they muddied the sky with oncoming sleet.

It was glorious.

Last night after he’d seen her to her room, he’d slept like the world was rocked in the bosom of a benevolent god. A deep boneless sleep where every muscle was lax with satisfaction.

This morning as his eyes opened to a dimly lit room, her taste was still on his tongue. You didn’t do that to a man and waltz away. Oh no.

But with a woman like her, strategy was going to be everything.

© E Holland

WIP:  Trusted.  The story of No 5.  The Painted Sisters