Blonde Maid in a Pickle

Erin Electra

Erin Electra,Matthias Christ

The afternoon sun streamed through the grand windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like gold glitter around her. She was a quiet symphony of soft sighs and the gentle rustle of her simple cotton dress as she moved. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a desperate drumbeat echoing the unspoken words lodged in his throat. He watched the way a stray sunbeam caught in her fair hair, weaving threads of honey and wheat into a radiant halo. Every careful placement of her hands, wiping a surface clean, felt like a tender caress bestowed upon the silent house. A profound tenderness swelled within him, so immense it threatened to spill over with his next shaky breath. The air grew thick with the scent of lemons and longing, a sweet, sharp perfume that made his head spin. He noticed the delicate curve of her neck as she bent to her task, a vision of such innocent grace it stole the air from his lungs. In that suspended moment, the space between them felt both an infinite chasm and the most intimate of distances. He knew, with a certainty that shook his very soul, that this was more than a simple, fleeting infatuation.