nothing for ages, then 2 buses come along at once...
Title: Candle
Author: fredsmith518
Beta: none, errors all mine as ever
Rating: tame
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no monetary profit made.
Summary Taylor in Paris, alone Christmas 2010
This wasn’t the place that she’d had expected to find herself in on Christmas Eve and it wasn’t as if she could claim to have darted in, on impulse, to avoid the rain. It was cold, wet and windy, but all those steps, slippery, stone steps, couldn’t have been negotiated in her heels without complete awareness of her surroundings. She’d known where she been headed: she just hadn’t been able to figure out why, still didn’t understand her choice. Her smooth brow furrowed.
As the last notes diminished, she shivered slightly, less from cold than from emotion. She’d found no comfort in the words or the music, beautiful as it had been. She hadn’t expected to. The last time that she’d been present at a mass, it had been her wedding to Henri Michael, enough, said, thought, whatever. The building, of itself, was beyond lovely, the exquisite windows, the amazing roof, both were worthy of contemplation for hours - but not by her, not that night.
From habit, she scanned the crowd as they filed out, families, the elderly, men, but predominantly women, a surprising number of single professionals, suited and brief cased, a myriad emotions, smiles, tears, frowns graced their faces.
Sighing softly, refusing to even think about her own horrendously mixed emotions, she stood to leave, but her attention was drawn to an array of candles, wicks flickering, but withstanding the draft from the doorway.
She approached, paid and lit a candle, feeling the warm glow from the others against her face as she stood contemplating her flame.
Hope The word whispered through her mind with no clear context, but she took it to herself and smiled.
inspired by photos posted on my flist. thank you!
Author: fredsmith518
Beta: none, errors all mine as ever
Rating: tame
Disclaimer: Nothing owned, no monetary profit made.
Summary Taylor in Paris, alone Christmas 2010
This wasn’t the place that she’d had expected to find herself in on Christmas Eve and it wasn’t as if she could claim to have darted in, on impulse, to avoid the rain. It was cold, wet and windy, but all those steps, slippery, stone steps, couldn’t have been negotiated in her heels without complete awareness of her surroundings. She’d known where she been headed: she just hadn’t been able to figure out why, still didn’t understand her choice. Her smooth brow furrowed.
As the last notes diminished, she shivered slightly, less from cold than from emotion. She’d found no comfort in the words or the music, beautiful as it had been. She hadn’t expected to. The last time that she’d been present at a mass, it had been her wedding to Henri Michael, enough, said, thought, whatever. The building, of itself, was beyond lovely, the exquisite windows, the amazing roof, both were worthy of contemplation for hours - but not by her, not that night.
From habit, she scanned the crowd as they filed out, families, the elderly, men, but predominantly women, a surprising number of single professionals, suited and brief cased, a myriad emotions, smiles, tears, frowns graced their faces.
Sighing softly, refusing to even think about her own horrendously mixed emotions, she stood to leave, but her attention was drawn to an array of candles, wicks flickering, but withstanding the draft from the doorway.
She approached, paid and lit a candle, feeling the warm glow from the others against her face as she stood contemplating her flame.
Hope The word whispered through her mind with no clear context, but she took it to herself and smiled.
inspired by photos posted on my flist. thank you!