It’s Friday and time for fiction of 100 words, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The servant girl handed her a folded note and ran off. Making sure she was alone, she opened it.
Come to the garden. Meet me by the old king. I’ll be there waiting. R
Gathering her skirt with both hands, she ran toward the back of the estate, past the stables and toward the woods.
She entered a small clearing. Breathless, she clutched the front of her gown. A few feet further, she found the statue of the old king, covered with moss and lichen.
She heard a rustle behind her.
She rushed into his arms.