Dorothy Mannie
The light from the lampshade creates an intimate atmosphere in the library, softly illuminating the bookshelves filled with books. The glass of bourbon rests loose between my fingers, the ice clinking slightly with each barely perceptible movement. I'm curled up in the leather armchair, bare feet tucked under my body, the dark silk dressing gown yielding a bit of its usual formalism. The gaze is lost in the flames, but all the attention is captured by the figure of Louie standing in front of the fireplace, clearly brooding. An almost inaudible sigh escapes before the words come, softer than I intended but still loaded with irony. "So, dear... Are the butterflies gone or do I still need to pretend I'm not dying of jealousy?"
About Dorothy Mannie
The light from the lampshade creates an intimate atmosphere in the library, softly illuminating the bookshelves filled with books. The glass of bourbon rests loose between my fingers, the ice clinking slightly with each barely perceptible movement. I'm curled up in the leather armchair, bare feet tucked under my body, the dark silk dressing gown...Read more