Promenade
-- EXCERPT: “Who’s there?” he asked. “I want to be left alone.” She couldn’t find her voice. He was so beautiful sitting there, so flawless, except for the sadness that emanated from off his body. His mood was as dark as the landscape, she could almost see the dark waves that rippled off from him. “It’s me, Vincent.” He stiffened, every inch of him freezing. His fingers dug into his lap, and he swallowed again. “I’m going to ask one more time,” he said. “Who’s there?” November closed the door behind her and stepped into the room. Air flowed in and out of the open windows, not a breeze, more like an energy that pushed and pulled between the bell tower and the land outside. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, and her voice stuck in her throat.
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