golden strands gently brush against the fluffed pillow, just before her head rests against its cool, soft, surface. a heavy sigh is the cause for pouty lips to slightly part, her tired, red & swollen doe eyes refrain from even taking a glance toward him. her eyelids were weighed down, her body sore, her mind exhausted. sleep is exactly what elizabeth needed, but she didn’t dare. how could she ? flashbacks within the span of the past two days flooded her mind, making it’s home deep inside of her, threatening to rewind each time she even attempted to close her eyes. he was killed, murdered in cold blood. why, you may ask ? it was HER FAULT. her father’s life, taken far too soon, ripped away from her like a freshly applied bandaid. ‘ i’m so proud of you, elizabeth. ‘ how ? ! how could a man of his intelligence, his sense of honor, refined, put together, poised posture & graceful manners, how could he insist he was proud of her ? she was least like him, as opposite as can be. never would she be silenced, nor held back. there was always a sense of adventure longing within her steel veins. perhaps her stunts in the past to express this was the sole reason for each of the gray hairs upon his head. regrets, words gone unsaid to the first man in her life who ever treated her as another being, rather than simply, ‘ a woman ‘ was dead.
petite, slim body lay limb upon the pile of blankets masked as a mattress. she rolls on her side, her back facing him, avoiding contact of any kind, for she knew as soon as he would simply touch her, the tears would stream down already stained cheeks all over again. “ i’m not tired. “ it was a lie, still it seemed more likely than to acknowledge the pain, the grief. the dark, shallow sadness overwhelming every nerve, every thought. she was trapped, & she had not one soul to blame but her own.