THIRTY-SEVEN
The quiet was uncanny as they made their way through the courtyard in the darkness before the dawn. At the edge of the garden alleyway, Sophia spun back to those behind her, their faces blurry in the murky moonlight. Fog was borne into the atmosphere as the cool ocean air blanketed the warm earth. The thickening sea mist cocooned them away from the rest of the world as it clung needily to the torch lights.
Her home stood deserted, the windows as empty as the rooms within. Small trickles of gray smoke rose out of the factory chimneys, iridescent against the black night sky. The smell of the burning alder wood invaded her nostrils. Here was everything she loved. She had hoped never to leave it and the foolish desire had brought them all to this moment.
The image of her father
