East Wing

It started early. Lightning briefly lit the ballroom but not quite enough to see by. Rain pummelled walls and tapped insistently on the leaded panes as if it wanted to come in.

We sat on our hilltop high above the village. The village where all our staff had come from. The village my ancestors had moved because it spoilt the vista across the gardens. The view from down there would be staggering tonight- a crumbling shell silhouetted against a stormy sky.

I pulled the duvet tighter round me and hoped for a decent night’s sleep in our last habitable room.


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