Levina shut the front door and leaned against it. Her work clothes were drenched in sweat and clung to her equally damp skin. Her legs were sore, and her back ached, desperate for a massage. She was exhausted, and a warm bath and meal sounded, in that moment, like a promise of a thousand gold drek to a beggar.
She had thrown herself into working in the garden all evening as a way to keep her thoughts at bay. Lucien had somehow infiltrated her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not force him out. Gardening, she found, successfully kept both her hands and mind occupied, and not even Lucien could break that concentration.
