Brown paper crinkles in her hands. Deft, lithe fingers pull the wrapper from the weight. Guy de Maupassant's 𝘉𝘦𝘭-𝘈𝘮𝘪 rests heavily in her hands. It's old, though hardly a first edition. A nail traces the letters before she slots it onto the shelf. Another time.

Walls unpainted. Furniture gathering cobwebs. The house is full of things left by the wayside.

A loveseat for two. A beam of light bisected by window supports. Dust motes drifting through the room. A woman with her legs stretched to the edge, a book in her lap. She leaves her body to rest while her mind finds a different place to be.

Five, Both hands on a bar mounted on the wall. Six, A floor-to-ceiling mirror running the length of the room. Seven, Knees bent, toes at first position. Eight, Arm outstretched, leading into a side bend.

Some days she's just tired.

A blip on an otherwise empty calendar. An appointment; a courtesy to let her know there will be company soon. Playing host to guests at the château is so much different nowadays.

//#OWRPHalloween Year 3! Here are this year's prompts, please RT and be sure to use the hashtag on your posts so people can easily find your prompt posts! You can also use this tag to find posts from previous years.

Ah, bien sûr, she cannot hold her drink well enough to tell me apart from the others.