A Muse...

[Britwitch]

<< Closed >>

Alexia had found the photograph in amongst hundreds of others in a box in a charity shop. They were being sold for 20p each so it hadn’t been a hard decision to make to purchase it. Something about it had called to her. That was how she’d explained it to her housemates when they’d walked in and found it propped up on her dressing table.
It was an old sepia coloured shot of a young man stood in a grove of trees. Nothing particularly special about it, the young man seemed handsome enough holding a single long stemmed flower in his hand but Alexia had found something else in the background that had awoken her interest.

Almost hidden amongst the shrubbery behind him was a young woman. Alexia almost hadn’t noticed her at first and none of her housemates had yet made the observation she had. Her face and shoulders were visible, she seemed to be carrying herself with the kind of nobility and grace one assumed that people in large stately houses were born with. In her hair was a bloom of the same kind as was being cradled in the young man’s hands. But something was wrong. Something about the graceful lady in the background was not all that it should be. Her head and shoulders were visible, but the rest of her was neither concealed by a hedgerow or hidden behind the dark haired man in the foreground. It simply wasn’t there.

The possible explanations for this apparent flaw in the photograph were many and, if she was honest, she didn’t really want to think too much about it. She kind of liked that there was some mysterious quality to it that no one else seemed to have noticed. So, it sat on her dressing table, she laughingly referred to it as her muse. Something to inspire her when her imagination fell flat.

Instead she found her eyes drawn to the man in the photograph and the mysterious woman beside him time and time again when they should have been focused on the task at hand. The young man and his clothing didn’t look modern but they did not look like they were from a time too far gone either. There was something almost familiar in the surroundings in which he was stood.

Late one evening, sipping a chilled glass of white wine while she had the house to herself, her housemates having left to visit family and friends for the weekend, she caught herself staring at the photo yet again. She had been sat on the bed in her jeans and a camisole top, one of her favourite blouses open over the top, barefoot and twisting a stray lock of her long dark hair around a finger. Frowning she put down the glass and padded over, picking it up and scrutinizing the image for the hundredth, no it had to be the thousandth time. Tutting at her own folly she turned the photograph over for a moment and noticed for the first time something handwritten along the bottom. A name, a name as mysterious as everything else was but it was definitely a name.
“Sophia…” She murmured the name aloud as she turned the picture back over, eyes immediately drawn to the woman's face within the image. "Who are you...?" Alexia asked, frowning again as she put the photo back and returned to the bed and her wine. Her mind was made up, after all she didn't have any engagements over the weekend and research was one of the things she did do best so she would find out who 'Sophia' was, resolving to head the village library first thing in the morning.

 

[DJ_Wordplay]

Matthew Covington

The young man sat alone, in a corner. His back to the window of this small village coffee shop so that he was facing the customers. Matthew(that was his name, he was almost certain of it) enjoyed watching people. He didn't know why. If he'd asked himself, and really though about it, he'd say it was because he felt as though he should be looking for someone. But who?

Her

No. Not her. Matthew corrected himself. His eyes had simply caught those of the young woman at the table opposite his. She gave him a brief and awkward smile before returning her attention to the book she'd been reading. As Matthew looked at her some more, he realized didn't look at all right. Her hair was all wrong. Her face too. Matthew took another sip of his tea.

Matthew always enjoyed the summer more than the winter. He felt as though he could be outside more and he had a greater hope that he'd run into her. As Matthew continued looking at the girl whose eyes he'd caught he chastised himself for ever thinking that she could be the one he was looking for. This girl looked far too strange. Her hair hung from her head in straight and messy strings that, although they gave the impression of disorder, were clearly arranged meticulously. Her clothing also revealed a great deal of skin. Matthew didn't know why but there was something inside of him that disapproved greatly of both things. Usually clothes or makeup or hair were the things that made him realize that the woman he was looking at was not the one he was looking for. The only ones who seemed to dress in the correct manner were older women and Matthew was positive that the woman he was searching for was young and beautiful.

"Like something to eat as well, dearie?"

Matthew was startled from his thoughts by the voice of the proprietor of the establishment. She was heavy, red of face. She was definitely not who he was looking for.

"No thank you ma'am. I think I'll take my leave." Matthew said politely, his pleasant voice had the unmistakable presence of wealth and education behind it. It had been remarked upon before and Matthew had always ascribed it to his years at Eton(Did he have the name of the school right? He was unsure)

Matthew had made plans to leave but the truth was he wasn't hungry. He figured he must have eaten before he'd come into town. True, he couldn't remember what he'd had but the lack of any sort of emptiness in his stomach told him that he'd certainly eaten his fill shortly ago. Matthew stood and left the coffee shop, his movements, his mannerisms, his clothes(currently a grey, three piece suit with black tie) all spoke to refinement and schooling. He pulled his cap down over his short, black hair and exited the establishment for the grey, wetness of the afternoon.

Her

No. It wasn't her. Simply a passing girl. She gave him a smile as well. Matthew smiled back but it was an unhappy one. Women did seem to like the sight of him as they took note that he'd seen them, that he was sure of. He remember that his features had once been described as being warm and pleasant(Who'd described them as such? Matthew couldn't entirely recall). Still, the smiles of women both pleased and concerned Matthew. The pleasant acknowledgment of a pretty girl was always something a young(Matthew was fairly sure he was in his mid twenties) man would appreciate but it felt improper. Like he was betraying someone or something.

Was he a priest? Matthew gave the thought a second before rejecting it with a chuckle. He began walking back towards his house. Some people would have said it was a lengthy walk and that he should have taken an auto but Matthew simply had no interest in it. He'd never driven to town. He'd always walked or, on the days when he was feeling particularly spry, cycled. As Matthew began the walk, his morose demeanor brightened as he caught sight of the sun emerging from the clouds.

Tomorrow was the day he'd find her, he was sure of it.