Copyright © 2012 Ela Lond
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Amanda, with her skirts lifted high, more stumbled than ran past flower beds and sculpted shrubbery, the rain wetting her veil, her ginger hair and her white frock. Over her harsh and shallow breathing she could hear the noise of battle coming from the broken French windows of the villa behind her. She tore off the veil and threw it aside as she stomped over the freshly cut lawn, the heels of her white satin boots sinking into the wet earth.