The Delay

The only remains of the old farmhouse were a few large stones in the foundation. They could be seen on the back basement wall facing south towards the lake.

This former home to acres of cows had slowly been falling apart due to years of neglect until some wealthy owner decided that this plot of land, in the middle of nowhere, was the perfect place to retire.

From the outside it still look like a farmhouse, rebuild with a rustic sense to resemble its humble beginnings. The inside, however was a palace. Six bedrooms, a kitchen and a half, breakfast nook and counter, formal dining room adjacent to the informal dining room, family room, lounge, media room, piano room, hallways that go on for ages… She belonged here.

She belongs here.

She is beyond a maid of honor tonight. A title thrown to those less worthy. The bride, apprehensive of inviting her, due to a past friendship and rumors, needs her here to balance the evening. There is the White and there is the Black. If she were offered a cigarette, she would take it, not because she smokes, but because it draws attention to her mouth and therefore her.

She sits in the window about to dress, fully anticipating the night to come. Lingerie chosen to entice, not only for you, who will see it later, but for herself, knowing that every step she takes, she is guarding a secret of sexuality that empowers her.

So she pauses to collect herself. A green-with-envy, dress laid out on the bed. She takes a moment to herself, lounging in the window, looking north, towards the woods.

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