8 May 2012
"Mrs Windal?" I ask again, she fumbles feebly with her moth eaten cardigan, draped over her hollow self, she stares toward the dust ridden floor boards, she presses her lips together with a mild shudder, yet again no answer. Back and forth I watch her pivot on her wooden chair waiting with bated breath for her to utter a reply, Impatiently I beckoned for the last time;
"Mrs Windal, I can only ask again what was your relationship with Charles Hannor?" to which she froze, as though something had shook her within, her ivory fragile hands tightened the grip of her cardigan, her head slowly rose and she met my gaze hastily, her sparkling oval eyes still held an emerald tint captured in her many scattered portraits, they glistened with tears that stemmed forth the longer she held my gaze, her eyes told more than she ever could
Penny • Opuss № I