Tumultuous clouds rumbled in the distance. A swift wind was its herald, warning the fog draped moors of its arrival. Soon the cold early morning drizzle would give way to the violent surge of thunders and lightning.
Angus pushed his golden curly locks away from his forehead, The early morning chill had already seeped into his bones,but ever since his beloved had passed on… tragically.. All warmth had fled from him. The wind teased at the poet’s blouse concealing his muscular frame, the wind tore at the bouquet in his powerful hands. The man stood unmoved, his eyes cast down to the modest headstone that lay beneath him.
Sophia Marie Tedge… … … Their love had just begun to bloom, That morning they had been wed, the feasting and well-wishing had flew by so quickly, and soon the evening festivities awaited. Alas it was not to be, she was cruelly plucked like a beautiful carmine rose.
The villagers had whispered, she had been taking by consumption. She had always been so fragile they said. Some whispered that the noble Tedges were cursed. The truth was as he had ripped her bodice, she had swooned in his arms. She never woke up. That wasn’t quite fit for polite discussion… Tragically
Ever the dutiful husband he made his way to her tombstone and knelt. Wherein he offered quiet prayers that someday somewhere they might be reunited. Sometimes when the wind raked across the hillsides, he swore he could hear her calling him to him.