It wasn’t until Miss Sheffield had already let her hands fall from Cyrus’s neck that she had fully grasped what she had done. Never had there been a more proud woman than she, and never had there been a more shocked woman.
These mixed emotions stirred around in Miss Sheffield's heart, surfacing and dying down again, recollecting and then leaving. This strength and dominance that Miss Sheffield never before knew she possessed overwhelmed her, and a faint giggle of delight interrupted the silence of the room. Miss Sheffield was a small girl of the age 15, maintaining a strict posture despite the frailty of her bones. Dirty blonde hair, earlier held back in a tidy knot, now draped her face in wisps, almost appearing to look like cobwebs in the faint candlelight. And her smile; oh, her smile could make the world’s plights seem like an insignificant worriment. There is truly something spectacular in the innocent smile of a young person. There is pure alleviation and joy in the smile of this virtuous soul. And in Miss Sheffield’s smile, there seemed to be the answer to everything good in Life. And so when Cyrus, her beloved betrothed, told her that hers was one that could make the dead walk again, she wanted to know if this was true.
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Mimi WytheA collection of gothic short stories. Archives
March 2015
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