Of Moths & Butterflies

October 1880 In the parlour of her uncle’s London house, Imogen sat alone.  The fire, burning low, provided the only light in the darkened room.  With each creak in the floorboards above, her heart stopped.  Then started again with violent but predictable irregularity. Again, the footsteps above.  The doctor had been upstairs for hours alreadyContinue reading “Of Moths & Butterflies”