It's Still Life

The Epilogue: A Return to Thyme

Brigid and Felreil left Room 215 as they had entered it, by the hidden closet, with the good sense not to ask whether one century had finished or merely misplaced them in someone else’s plan.

The bellhop-automaton raised a final card, though neither of them paused to read it; Felreil was already holding the door for Brigid with his usual quiet patience.

As they crossed the threshold and left, the room emptied of voices, leaving behind cake, time and clocks, and the ordinary traffic of air too thin to be trusted entirely — Brigid felt only the small, clean ache of missing Provence.

And so they arrived, not into another plot but into long shadows under olive trees, the familiar road lifting toward home, and the air smelling faintly of thyme and salt warmed through by heat.

“There now,” Brigid said, as if returning from a waking dream no more remarkable than setting down a teacup, and Felreil glanced at her and answered, “I liked the bellhop’s cards.”

Brigid smoothed her skirt while Felreil stretched the ache from his war-worn leg, and after a moment she laughed and said, “Cake, love?”

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This is the end of the Brigid and Felreil’s journey, and I thank Denise for hosting SSC&B (Six Sentence Stories) which thoroughly stretched my creativity in a most enjoyable way. Thank you, Denise, and to all who followed along.  ©Misky 2006-2026.