Shafts of sunlight cut through the dark green leaves. The trees were silhouetted against the setting sun. Red light rolled over the hills; the château was painted burgundy in the dying rays. High above, the shade of the sky faded to periwinkle and the moon rested in the growing cold.
Alli stood on the grounds, in a wool sweater, trainers and jeans. Nealy was walking toward her, dressed for riding – in a long-sleeved, loose white shirt and tall black boots. She stopped several paces away, by the old white swing.
I can barely remember you anymore, Alli thought.
The disc of the sun was lost beyond the poplars. The shadows on the mansion stretched backward, further away in time. Forgotten vines of ivy had creeped down the façade.
Nealy did not move and regarded Alli with a steady gaze. Alli felt herself pulled farther back in time. Every penumbra joined the darkness of the night and evening fell.
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