Soul Searching

The moonlight seeping through the off-white lace curtains is just enough light to paint an outline of almost everything in the bedroom.

Movement from the old, iron framed bed makes the young man straighten up slightly. He watches the young woman pull one of her feather pillows down, further supporting her head.

He slowly walks across the room, emerging into the moonlit area and lingering at the foot of the bed. He folds his arms, looking down at the young woman's peaceful face. Digging his fingers into his arms, he fights the urge to reach out and touch the young woman's face.

"Tate," a stern voice whispers from the bedroom's threshold. "Leave her alone."

He looks at the woman, reluctantly walking toward the bedroom's exit, "Moira."

"You'll wake her. Anastacia isn't a morning person, nor does she enjoy being awoken."

Tate catches one last glimpse of the sleeping girl before Moira shuts the door quietly. "Her name is Anastacia?"

"Yes. Her name is Anastacia. Leave her alone, Tate."

He follows the maid down the hallway, "tell me more about her."

"You should know plenty about her; you've been watching her since they moved in two weeks ago."

"I don't know enough."

Moira purses her lips, "she's a sweet girl. Much sweeter than you think she would be."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're asking me questions that you're eventually going to get answers to on your own, Tate."

Moira continues walking, even when Tate stops and turns around, walking back to Anastacia's bedroom.