“I hobbled Goosestep and crept forward. The forest was harmless, sun-dappled, on all sides; birds fought and fluttered in their green houses, and sang soaring above them. The witch’s horse was not there. I broke from the trees, readying my throat to call. But, ‘Ah!’ started from me, like a cry from the girl herself. The tower door was open. Light was piled golden before it, motionless fire, a weighty plaited sun. My horror carried me to this wreckage, and buried my arms to the elbows in it. Was ...it still warm? Did she lie dead above? Did the witch await me? Not caring—daring the witch, indeed, to present herself to me in my terror and rage—I ran in, I ran up. On a single breath, it felt, I reached the room. The door stood wide. All was as it should be within, except that I entered this way, and into emptiness, not by the window and into my love’s arms. How plain, how threadbare all this was without her, that had seemed such rich furnishings and so essential; how sad the little pillow on the bed where we had lain and whispered, how poor the rug, covering so few of the cold flags!MoreLessRead More Read Less
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