Her petticoat loosely hung, she brisked through the fields of awakening poppies, ones who have slept and ones who stretched their last yawns. Well, we can’t say that her reckless fashion of walking could win any favors among the flowers– that is, if she had been a pound more heavier, she would have crushed them dead while trudging carelessly in apathy among the Life of Spring.

She seemed to be in a purposeful hurry. Fixing on a pair of pince-nez, she fumbled in her bag for something, to whose need must be discretionary for she discontinued the process after a going through the second compartment without displaying a decimate look of distress.

Brushing her hair back, she tilted her glasses in a professional air as she breezed through the fields, pulling her petticoat along, which was swept back by the strong winds.

Hoisting up her left arm to draw back the bulky sleeves, a watch, a quaint antique with an emerald studded watch face accentuated with some well-placed rubies along its side. Old country, but it does seem to suit our lady, in a strange way.

Looking at it doesn’t seem to move her in any ways that we’ve imagined. Perhaps, its an old watch– past its days of thrill for its mistress.

She heaved a sigh of resolved anxiety that which relief in itself could not properly describe.

4.15 .

It seemed that the exact time itself is the concern for our lady, but we could not say for sure..

He watched her in muted interest.

The watch, the watch..

Those were the times when Deja Vu kicks in and gets you..

In.

It was all too familiar, on a Summer’s afternoon..

.

.

(to be continued tomorrow (: keep reading!)

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