( december 13th )

[firegap]

All the manor is theatrical in its style, except the east wing, it is a little less. Baroque meets neoclassical, they didn't finish the new quarters until 1809. She never went there in life. Now, she never goes there in death. The doors, even when open, prevent her, her footfalls sound until that borderline, then they fall silent and go still. She stands in the divide for very long, looking at the place she cannot access, the things she cannot touch, longing for the sunrise that she will never again see.

Everything began in the east wing and because everything begins there, it is where she ends.

They have moved her portrait. It doesn't belong in those rooms, but there it is, her name and her face, out of reach. She breathes hard into the overlap between curvaceousness and columns, you will hear her presence like bodiless gasps, ah, ah, ah.