by Jolene Faye
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Sybil pulled the quilt up over her shoulder and jumped as the thunder crashed around the cabin. Hearing the muffled reverberation of the shot ring in her ears, startling her as the dream faded into the darkness of the cabin. Turning in the small bed she sighed at the restlessness of her sleep and glanced toward the window. She wasn't surprised to see it was still dark outside, with the storm that had blown in last night. She figured it would be darker at least an hour or so longer this morning. Pulling the quilt from the bed as she stood, Sybil wrapped its warmth tightly around her shoulders and shivered. Stuffing her feet into her slippers she shuffled toward the fireplace and added a small log to the top of the ashes. Staring out the window, she watched the slow fall of the snowflakes and sleet and thought maybe another six inches of snow had fallen during the night. Thankfully it looked as though the storm was moving on. As she lit the small stove and placed the coffee pot on the top, Sybil listened to the distant rumble of thunder and wondered what brought her dream on yet again and how real the shot had sounded. It had been six years since she'd lost her father, shot the bastard who killed him, and left the only home she had known, but still sometimes in her dreams she relived the horrors over and over again. Sybil sighed making her way back to the small window and pressed her forehead against the coldness of the glass. Shaking her head slowly trying to push the dream out of her head, her eyes fixed on the dark reflection of her face in the window. Fringes of her golden blond locks stuck tight against the moistened glass as the softness of her brown eyes traced over the darkened scar running from the corner of her eye down her cheek and slipping under the quilt covering of her neck. Raising her fingers slowly, she pressed the tips against the coarse texture of the scar and followed its path down her face and throat. He may not have made her his in the way he planned, but he had definitely left his mark.
