Time passed by and the ache in the girls heart lessened. Still there was hardly a day in which she didn’t think of the boy. The leaves had turned from an acrid green to the rotting hues of death. Piles of orange, brown and yellow amassed around the shriveling limp forms of her previously vibrant blood red roses.
Not even her songs could bring the flowers back into being. Without them the garden lost nearly all of its appeal. Instead she spent her time in the creaking attic. A single round window let in the most pleasant waves of light in the afternoon. This was the girl’s favorite time to visit the attic. She would sit squarely amidst the filtered sunlight, particles of filth floating around her ethereally as she played with the toys the boy had brought her.
The afternoon happened to be the time in which a young woman would walk past the manor. Every week day she looked after a child perhaps a few years younger than the girl. When the child’s mother returned the young woman would walk through the old neighborhood on her way home and romantically admire the ancient architecture.
Frequently she imagined what it would be like to live in one of the old houses. She fantasized about the houses histories, did they have ghosts? She liked most to think about having her own young family one day to inhabit such a house. Little children who looked a bit like her to run amongst the gardens, a loving husband to look on with her from the porch.
It seemed more and more of these old houses were becoming abandoned. Yet one abode appeared to be occupied. The woman saw the girl silhouetted in the attic window. Round dark eyes with matching dark hair peered out at her. The afternoon light gave an eerie glow to her skin.
It started with a smile and quickly escalated to a wave of the hand. The girl came to expect the woman in the afternoons. She waited at the attic window for her to exchange a grin and a wave. Although the girl’s presence was consistent the young woman never saw another soul inside the gates of the manor.
The estate fascinated the woman. Past the embonpoint gate she could see the sleeping garden. The strong columns of the porch supported the sagging awning threatening to envelope the front of the house. The tall sinister building was shrouded in hues of grey and the mysterious girl that appeared every afternoon in the attic.
Her fantasies turned from the houses and her own future to thoughts of the girl. She wondered over the girls past, over her present within the house and over her future if she stayed there. Her curiosities grew to such an extent that one afternoon they compelled her to enter the gate and knock on the splintering door.