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Wrote this in about an hour as part of an experiment. No harsh comments please :3

Their silhouettes were one across the chaise, eyes wandering toward the cracked open window. A crisp winter breeze entered the room but neither shivered as the flames he lit in the fireplace were more than enough.

                The silence in the room may have been disconcerting if this was not a usual practice for the pair. He was a quiet sort, often only speaking when asked. Her imagination was vivid enough to fill in the blanks and consume the empty air space with her noisy mind.

                Tucked away in the edge of the forest, her home was a place of solitude. It had been in disrepair until he arrived. Its gray walls had been adorned with crawling ivy, representing over a hundred years without a gardener. The wooden porches were old and splitting; a few windows were cracked or missing altogether. But he was a noble man, and he worked tirelessly to fix up her family’s neglected gem.

                It had been the coincidence of the century that he arrived. He was every woman’s dream; tall, dark, and handsome. He had been wandering the area, looking for work, when he noticed the disarray of her front yard. She had already been alone for quite some time, and her mind was already searching for new possibilities.

                Such as many previously abandoned houses, the old maid’s suite was empty and ready to be used again. He moved in, and she was glad to use her inheritance for the help around the estate. He was hand around the home as well, and he turned out to be quite the chef.

                It truly began in the middle of the night, like most romances that would last for eternity. She lay awake, her body still but her mind active. It was that moment when she knew, she had that inkling that maybe something was there, and she was foolish to ignore it. The floorboards creaked as she floated down the hall, wondering if this was the beginning to the rest of her life. And in that first passionate night, she felt like it was.

                Before he arrived, she had been alone. It was at the suggestion of her mother that she spend some time out of the city, for her health, she said. The home was far away enough from her mother that she hesitantly obliged. She could not pin point why, but something about her mother bothered her. She remembered her mother was the type to knock her off her dreams, but she could not remember why.

                She could not wait to prove her wrong. They were to be married, holding their ceremony on the very land where their lust was born. She had called her mother, telling her of the wonderful man, the way he improved the house, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke to her. But of course, there was no happiness to be found over that call; her mother was cynical, doubtful at best and demanded to meet this new man before their affair continued any longer.

                Just a few minutes later and the sound of a key turning in the lock sounded throughout the old house. How dare she enter like that �" it was her home now, and she wanted to grant her mother access through the door like any guest.  She swept down the stairs, swiftly meeting her mother before she had passed through the door frame. The woman embraced her daughter, but the look on her face said it all. Why couldn’t she allow her to be happy, she wondered.

                “Sweetie, it is time for you to come home.”

                Her mother always had to crush her spirits.

                “I’m happy here, mom.”

                Her mother glanced out the front door. The young woman grinned, waiting to see her mother’s pleasure with the state of the yard.  She was met with surprise when her mother turned back, a grave expression crossing her face.

                “There is no gardener, sweetie. Please, look outside.”

                She let out a sigh, wondering what her mother was trying to achieve. She stepped forward just enough to see to the end of the driveway. The place was overrun with weeds, trash; why hadn’t he prepared for her mother’s visit? She had warned him she would be coming.

                “He must have forgotten to tend the yard, mummy. Please, come upstairs and meet him. He is so excited to meet you,” she bluffed, knowing this white lie would flatter the old woman. However, her face held constant.

                She walked her same steps back up the stairs and down the hall. It was much colder upstairs now, and she could not help but shiver.  She pressed the door open, looking back at her mother as they stepped into the lounge room. Her vision shifted to the empty chaise in the center of the room, and she could hardly hide the confusion pacing her mind.

                “Honey, it’s cold up here. Please, come to the car, I’ll take you home.”

                Her daughter did not make eye contact. It was not cold earlier, but the fire was out. The window was broken again, and the harsh breeze coming through hit her over and over. She looked back to the chaise, now noticing where dust had collected, just along the half where he used to lay. She balanced between her two feet, the only sound coming from the floorboards cracking beneath her shifting weight.

                “I don’t understand…” she said, her eyes finally meeting her mothers. It was not cynicism in the woman’s eyes, it was grief greater than she could ever imagine. She was overcome with feelings and an understanding. This was all too familiar. This had happened before.  She was lucid again.

                Her mother had never crushed her dreams; her mother had always taken her away from her colossal delusions.  He had never existed in the way she had known him to, and he never would exist to everyone else. But he had been all too real to her, and the love she felt still existed in the caverns of her soul.

She felt overwhelmed with her inability to draw the lines between fact and fiction. She became aware that this house was a last attempt; memories of counting pills, hospital beds, counseling groups flooded back into her memory. She would never be cured. She would always love men that did not exist and live in beautiful homes that no one else would ever see.

Maybe he was not real in the sense of reality that everyone else defined. But she had loved him more than she had loved anyone else. She would never feel that way again as no real man would be as perfect as the man her mind could have dreamt for herself.

There was no other answer than the one in front of her. It would never end, and she would continually be heart broken by men that did not exist. She glanced back at her mother once before she ran toward the open window. She crashed through the class and flew outside the home. As she fell toward the rocks a few stories below, she finally felt a sense of lasting peace.

She hit the ground, her head colliding with a rock large enough to stop the delusions for good. Her eyes were left open, unseeing, but pointing toward the family cemetery which she crashed adjacent to. Her mother’s tombstone lay just a few feet from her, engraved with an ode to the delusions that plagued her to her own death as well.