Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words | Page 60

The idea made her shiver inside. Like the tickle of an invisible
finger running up her spine. Was he going to be disappointed? There
hadn't been a changing of the guard in over three hundred years. It
always happened on the last day of October.
The thought of letting him down was a painful one. Her father had
been such a wise and powerful man. His opinion was everything.
“... or me.”
The hinges on the front door cried out, their stiff joints,
unaccustomed to use, would not perform their function without
complaint. She chuckled to herself. Even the house was desperate to
expose her inadequacies.
Stepping into the foyer, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep
breath. In spite of decades of abandon, she could still smell her
mother's perfume embedded deep in the wood, all musky and sweet.
Her mother had been the most beautiful woman in town. Long,
luscious brown hair framed a cherubs face, with eyes the color of
honey. Many a man had the breath stolen from his chest while gazing
into those golden eyes.
The pangs of jealousy she spent years suppressing, came flooding
back. They clung to her very soul, like the cobwebs that draped the
vaulted ceiling above her head. She couldn't believe mother still had
that kind of power over her. The power to invoke fear and timidity,
envy and spite, all at once. All from the grave.
“You shouldn't be here,” the voice whispered.
She nodded in silent agreement. The voice was partially right.
None of this would have been necessary if her mother hadn't been so-
“Thieving? Treacherous?”