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Winter Light, a new love

"His hair was the color of dead wood. His eyes, like the green heart of a tender leaf. I was still and silent as I looked at him for the first time, and he looked at me."

Not much to build a story around, I'm afraid. I have always wanted to put these two together, and now that I have done it, I don't know what to do with them. Like fighting hard for a hopeless love, eloping together, and having no idea what to do now.

I have a new, powerful spin on Lind's protege Germaine, formerly Hildegarde, described thus,

"She looked back into the parlor, which seemed extremely warm and from the balcony, where candles flickered softly and a fire burned behind the glass hearth doors. A young woman entered the room, all in white, with blue ribbons on her gown and in her hair, signifying the dress of a fashionable ingenue, but her face, though youthful and soft, was like nothing like Lind had seen before.

Her mouth was large and red; her face was dead-white, with heavily lashed eyes of the blue hue Lind likened to the hottest portion of a flame. Her eyes set on her new governess through the glass doors, and she stood still. Lind knew this was her prompt to enter the room.

Swiftly she moved through the doors and closed them behind, not without disturbing the candles with the draft. Bits of snow clung to her brown shawl and in her hair. The student looked her over with interest but not criticism. When she met Lind’s eyes Lind felt the full force of her personality.

“Good morning, Freiherrin Hesse. I am your tutor, Miss Thorn," Lind said.

“Miss Thorn, a pleasure,” she replied in heavy English. There was a wistfulness in her voice that bred an aura of charisma around the student’s voice and expression. Lind had never met a girl with this human awareness; it was either an inherent trait, or born of experiences unknown. Most girls faced their new female teacher with boredom or melancholy, if they faced her at all.

“Likewise, Freiherrin,” Lind said warmly. She gestured to the tea table, where she had laid the books for their lessons.

“Please, Miss Thorn, call me Germaine.”

“Thank you,” Lind said quietly, not looking up from the book she handled. She was constrained by courtesy to addressing this young noblewoman by her title and had hoped for the permission, which of course many a vain, petulant pupil would never give. It would help her to gain authority."

I'm so much less romantic now. I'm using what I see in real people as material, and not because someone told me to. Maybe I'm becoming real.

Lots of people standing still. I just noticed that, that's odd. It must be my new writer's tic.

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