Rumours of her ramblings...
A lovely, lazy afternoon shone with the young and bright sun of the summer's start. The nostalgic, empty courtyard of a house was a filigree of light and shade. While the husband was away in his notary office job, the lonely wife decided to shake off her torpor. Someday at this very point of her life's story someone would write: everything was going well in their shared life until this afternoon. She ventures into her husband's studio downstairs. She was, of course, strictly forbidden to enter this sanctum in the very beginning of their journey together. This trespass was eventually discovered and condemned. 'This is my space, my own... mine alone,' he shouted. 'There is nothing I have hidden here, no mementos of betrayal to you are stored. Just a place that is for me only.' And right after that sentence ended she thought – not of the various conspiracy theories and probable reasons for that 'space' but about the existence or the lack of one such...