She woke early, creeping down the stairs, out the door, lost as to where she was. Surrendering herself completely to the arms of the rain. Feeling the soft sensation of each drop enveloping each separate individual thought. Following the murmur of each voice, each step, following the scent of lavender out to the garden.
Something in the Garden of Eden that drew her out, drew her further in, as if the garden could read her despair, read the grief within her, reading every word of life on the delicate form of her cheek. The ignorance of the truth became her face, the face of a photograph frozen in time, the solemnity of something stained in her eyes.
The last trace of a broken being, a shy smile, the impossible direction of a world pressing in, rested on the bare iron bench of her escape. Wanting to lie down, fall asleep, if only for a short while.