The Running Lady. ~Liars and Actresses~

Episode III

The forest was dark. Shards of moonlight lit her strange path. The ground on which she tread is soft and malleable. Her fresh footprints lead deeper into the forest, soft clay sticking to her bare feet. Her shoes were discarded long ago. Her warm breath was given form due to the cold.

The forest canopy of leaves sheltered her from the snappy night life. Bats shrieked as they flew over head in search of food. Their shadows are made daunting by the striking moonlight behind them; molding their figures into imaginary beasts. The cold night air colored her nose a light pink. She had finally found it. She forced herself through a thick bamboo wall, earning her a fresh scratch up her pale arm. Hundreds of bamboo stalks in an unnatural band, it looked overgrown and uneven. Stalks clink together like wind chimes giving a beat to accompany the earthy whispers. A fog from the Lake Mountains embraced her line of sight. She stood still and gazed into the blurred horizon. In the sea of calm blue that was before her, a flicker of light danced in the corner of her vision. She jogged towards the yellow dancer, she would of ran, however, the moment itself told here is didn't want to be rushed. She passed several neglected gardens. Flowers overflowing from their beds. Mud caked onto her skin and freckled everywhere else. A crown of twigs, leaves and alike adorned her wavy mess of hair. Attempts to remove the ornaments would only cause pain. These regular occurrences were something she did not miss.

Interruption on the form of a fall exuded a lovely wet 'thud' sound. The mishap didn't assist the growing soreness in her legs. The sandwich she had stolen from City Roybay was an unfortunate causality. The now lifeless treat made inedible by the sickly brown mud. Simply jolly.

Her recent misfortunes stretched her lips into grimace. She threw the deceased sandwich to her left, not caring what shall become of it. A satisfying 'ker-splunk' ment she managed to hit a puddle. Snubbing the direction that the sandwich was flung, she marched onwards, focused on the yellow muse, flickering and jumping in the distance. The light made the darkness darker. The contrast was as subtle as an air horn to the ear of a defenceless sleeping someone.

As she approached, the yellow dancer took form. A porch lamp hung from the wall of a damp wooden cottage, it's stability is questionable at best. Doubts form about it's water resistant abilities bubble forward. Time has not been kind to the aged cottage, but still looks like when she saw it last. Curiosity beckoned her forward.
The rotten porch creaked under her careful step. She slunk to the bare window, wanting to know more of the cabins new resident.

Several brightly burning lamps lit the lounge room of the cottage. Chairs and tables litter the room in organized chaos. The couch in the west corner of the room was well loved and showed his scars proudly showing his wounds from previous battles. At least that didn't change.

They threw out the old dresser she had grown fond of. Pity. It was a good dresser too. They framed drawing Nora made before she left. It was of a strange reptilian thing she encountered on her way out. It looked similar to a bearded dragon, but miniature and camouflage-ish. I guess they must of liked it. A warm nostalgic warmth graced her cold body.

At the very edge of her vision, sharp movements married with dark sobs of despair startled the mud covered young lady. Her eyes scanned the north of the room to find an old man in a thick winter jumper, scuffed and torn at the rims, accompanied by thick modest cargo pants, only covered by warm tall and tatted boots that tapped against the floor marked by discoloration. He rocked back and forth, hunched over a wooden desk. He ran his frail hand through his faint thinning hair, a light grey color catching the light.

On closer inspection, he seemed to be clutching a well loved photo, the frame was made of a dark wood that matched the serious tone of the room. Tears made a slight plink sound as they embraced the glass. Somber feelings hung in thick rain clouds above his sun-spotted head. Papers were covering the desk like a white ocean, jumbled words floated on the pages like boats.

The invisible weight dragged forced him to sway deeper and deeper. Clear tears announce their presence, short playful winks in the melancholy moonlight.

His tired eyes narrowed in frustration, observing suddenly felt exceedingly in appropriate. The things he was thinking about seemed to get to him. He hastily stood and thew thew the picture into the wall opposite making a smash sound like non Nora had ever heard. The out of nowhere movement started the poor girl. The man wept and sniffled. He was slightly hunched and stared at the remains of the picture frame with despair and hatred. He continued to do so until he understood what he just did. His hands covered his mouth as the ran to the broken mess on the floor.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. "

He slipped to his knees and reached out for the photo with a shaking hand. He eyes looked fondly at the photo. He clutched it to his broken heart again, wishing that she was here once more. Eyes turned to the sheathed sky.

"Darling, I would give up the world five times over,  just to see your beautiful face again."

He nuzzled himself into the thin page as it were his warm blanket on a cold winters night. He seemed reluctant to move from his spot even though it was very easy to tell that he was uncomfortable.

He waited in silence for another five minutes, the moment pleading him to stay. He eventually shuffled to another room, he glanced at his bleeding hand on his way,  he glass from the frame pierced his skin. He was put of sight but she could faintly hear him laughing,

"What would I do without you?"

Caught on a porch that was once hers. Crying the tears of the old man inside.

"Oh dear, what a welcome home."