Night had deepened, carrying chills to the bones as the air got colder, implying that the fall had taken the reign over the warmest season of the year.
Facing the wall, Joanna had focused her eyes on the golden flame that swirled and twirled in the fireplace, giving shine to the darkness. Not once did she turn over from her laying position since she managed to lay on the bed, dramatically freeing herself from the cage that was so stubborn to trap her in.
Slipping under the blanket that covered her body up to the lower half of her face, Joanna placed her palm on her chest, where her heart had not calmed down since she braved herself to initiate the conversation with the man whose words contained honey that were too sweet to bear to her might.
And her heart was beating more rampantly, drumming in her chest, when the meaning of number eight, which became the favorite number of the man, was delivered, reaching her ears and seeping into her heart.
