Rosamund
A woman was weeping.
She knelt in a field of dead grass beneath a sky the colour of ash, her shoulders shaking, her hands pressed flat against the earth as though she could dig her way into it and disappear.
Her hair was dark, unbound, falling around her face in a curtain that hid everything except the sound of her grief, raw and endless, spilling out of her like something that had been building for years.
I couldn't see her face. I tried to move closer, but my feet seemed stuck, and the field stretched on forever in every direction, grey and lifeless, the woman's sobbing the only sound in the whole dead world.
"He promised me," she whispered, though I couldn't tell who she was speaking to. "He promised."
Suddenly, the field dissolved. My eyes widened with shock as I turned around, wondering what had happened.
