For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt.
She peered through the cloudy glass.
“They didn’t look out of the windows much, did they?”
Light entered the room, transformed by the thick glass and hatched by the leading. It was light that entered, pale and wintry, not sunshine, even though the house was south-facing and the season was high summer. Thick mullions kept the outside world at a distance.
“They didn’t open them either,” the guide said. “It was more important to keep the cold out than let floods of light in.”
“Shame though, in summer, they might have liked to smell the roses.” She frowned and peered closer, wondering why she couldn’t see them. “Must have been another window,” she murmured to herself and, standing on tiptoes, pressed her face to the glass. Cold bit and she winced. Wind howled and rattled bare branches that scratch-scratched against the stone.
Unease filled her stomach like lead, like the dull diamonds of the windows. The guide’s voice reached her, wafted on cold air, from a great distance.
“Nobody used this room anyway. Nobody ever will.”
She shivered and turned from the window. The room was empty. And there was no door.