Goes Somer * Goesomer * Gossamer

A Mourner

The Miller’s daughter dressed in red. Mad creature doesn’t know her mother’s dead. Sickly woman knew her time would be short and spoilt her child with fantasies and illusion befitting none but the devil. Here stands the pale child at the grave’s brim, knee deep in snow plucking petals from her roses instead of throwing them to the grave. The sight awakens some memory or terrible premonition of blood-spattered snow, those red petals on the white. I will not linger in this graveyard, not for the first heap of dirt to be thrown after. Any with sense and seen the sight would feel the same in their bones.

Miller, the love-struck father, is blind.

Pray, pray for a mad child’s soul and her dead, Godless mother!