There's a film of dust on the table.
She's been gone for fifty two days now. Yes, I counted. I cannot say that I miss her, but I do miss what she signified. In the last days I had come to like coming home to someone, albeit said someone would rather be someplace else.
I have never been social, I didn’t even have friends, nor have I been one to form attachments, and so it is with some measure of surprise that I have come to realise just how attached I have become to this maid of mine. Emphasis on maid.
I cannot explain the attachment though. She certainly is no great beauty, nor did she have any money or connections to bring to the table, and this isn’t one of those silly romance novels where the prince fell in love with the pauper, I'd say the only thing interesting about her was her v
