~ Niamh ~
The sound of the world weeping woke me up on Wednesday morning.
It was a soft, rhythmic drumming against the glass, a persistent grey lullaby that made me want to pull the duvet over my head and disappear forever.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the mansion, feeling the weight of the house pressing down on me.
Eventually, I forced myself out of bed. The floor was cool against my bare feet as I walked to the window. I pulled back the heavy silk curtains and unlatched the glass, pushing it open to let the morning in.
The air was incredible. It was thick with the scent of damp earth, crushed grass, and that sharp tang that only comes with a fresh Texas rain.
Outside, the landscape was a blur of muted greens and deep greys. The sprawling gardens, usually so manicured and imposing, looked soft and vulnerable under the mist.
