(2) Every Sunday Morning

Every Sunday morning she stands by the largest window in her bedroom. The patterns cast onto the floor by the beams crossing the tall arching glass were ignored by the same child who had once insisted on them. Ripe fruits and glaze treats had been served to her, through her eyes barely strayed from the window she stood dutifully by. Her soft face is highlighted by the sun’s rays as she stands there, her golden eyes gently glowing as she stares out into the fiery setting sun. She has been standing there all day, dressed in a simple floor-length silk dress adorned with a trinket around her neck, her long black hair loose down her back. She has been watching and waiting the whole day for the crowd of horses and carriages that were to signal his return.