Edgar Allan Poe's Sacrifice: A Narrative Fiction

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She sits on the floor by the window, gazing out at the softly falling snow. She rocks back and forth gently, cocooned in a potato sack blanket. Not a sound has escaped her since I found her out in the cold, earlier today, as I was surveying the forest.
She was cold—too cold—with shallow breath and faint pulse, cut and bruised and smudged with dirt and blood. I carried her back to my cabin where the crackling fire returned colour to her lips and cheeks and a pail of warm water flushed grime from her shiny raven’s wing hair.
The cabin is very still save for her rocking and the flickering red flame in the fireplace. I pluck a leather-bound book from the wooden shelf and sit at my desk. The white square of window fades to black. She stays there nonetheless—rocking, rocking, eyes fixed on something somewhere in the impenetrable darkness. I light my oil lamp, layering shadows across the walls. I pull out a well of ink and my quill pen. …show more content…

Her eyes are dark and obsidian. I meet her gaze. We stay like this for a while, until she slowly rises from her spot by the window, potato sack wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders like a cape. She walks—no, floats over, her gentle footsteps making nary sound nor vibration. Her gaze is fixed on the desk—no, the book—no, the pen.
She approaches, until her thighs hit right against the slanted wooden edge of my desk. I look up at her, she looks down at me. Her expression is not imposing, just tired, and quite

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