The Last Dance
Dust motes danced in the air like tiny fairies, captured in the pale yellow sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. Eleanor sat relaxed in her high backed chair, with her book open on her knee. Her eyes stared unseeing out into the garden as the birds pecked at the bread crumbs on the lawn. Her silver hair curled in wispy tendrils around her lined face. The faint vestiges of beauty were still evident in the slant of her cheek bones and the arch of her brow, but her hazel eyes were...