#13 (Part II)

#13 'Teach' Envelope (Part II)

     I tried to put from my mind the horror stories my husband scared me with on long wuthering nights.  It was all a ruse for him, all to push me into his arms and us into a love making where I honored his hero's status.  After all, he was the one who saved me from the monsters and goblins in his stories.  Towards the end he hadn't made up a story, but told me to climb under the covers while he stood watch.  The wind had made noises like it did now.  "What is it?"  I had dared to peek over he edge of the comforter and ask.  "Fetches."  He said. 
     From behind me came a shrill flute-ish whistle.  I jumped, spun around.  I glared at the cracked windows, the dirt encrusted windows.  These were the windows that made the entire building equal to that of a bottle organ, a mouthpiece to lost souls.  .    
     With perspective back in balance I returned to teaching.  "We came into a new style of artistry.  I can see by the . . . by the designs on your dresses that you've already had an introduction to the subject."  I lifted my hand to the faded walls, wrote out the words 'Art Nouveau'.
     Somewhere, behind me, someone giggled.  I knew that sound, the distinctive uplift of a child in mischief. 

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