Maudlin music and less than red linen made for soft people she felt, yes felt, which was beyond knew and just before faith –
Her red was of the blackish kind and her curtains blocked out the sunlight and opened to the rain of days- she was content.
She knew that was it. She knew. The world bloomed red in small startling places and she searches for the sear and pucker of it in the dead of winter
This proved effective to draw her attention away from the doggish way he looked upon her. He had a spaniel that she liked and wished was hers
But he wasn’t.
They were well sheltered within the stonewalled cottages that were between a farm house and just shy of a manor house — and the walls encompassed them and there they lived.
Her looking for scarlet and he looking at her.
The spaniel was immortal and sighed often.
Magicians were not allowed through the gates and witches could fly over but the breeze was constant and she could not tempt fate with this or that bauble of love.
A nod, not even a sur name offered when they met upon the cobbled street, she always with her eye on the corner of a stone building looking for red.
What could he do? Learn to dance? Pray for drought? He walked the dog and they spied her over the scarlet rose of autumn. Embolden he walked to the place and bent his head to smell the flower.
He looked back up to see her gazing out upon the horizon.
“Stay,” he said, “and the dog will dance until you see the famous scarlet sunset.”
She stayed and as the sun played out the light of evening he whirled her round and the dog barked and gamboled about their feet.
And the scarlet of sunset reflected against the once stone walls of their lives.