As if woken from a nightmare, she would walk back to her home, feeling each time that it was a dream. Feeling that if she walked to her bedroom, to the room she once shared with her husband, her infant daughter, that perhaps the nightmare would abate -
And she’d stare at that empty bed… and Viola would remember.
And the remembering itself was injury anew. Her heart would shatter anew, burning in her bosom, a searing ache that she hoped would be quenched by the cold, muddy waters of her new manor. Her new home.
