The Widow’s Web
Pushing back a tiny plate, displaying no more than a smear of a crumb, she sank herself down in her chair. Delicate, translucent and unmoving, few would even notice that the cavernous armchair held anything more than a bundle of blankets. She breathed, but it could not been seen nor heard.
Preserving all, every drop, of her energy internally not a single speck was wasted on physical movement. Her eyes, even, whilst alert, remained cloudy and motionless. She did not look, nor did she expend a calorie in closing the eyelids. She thought.
All around her, through the forest and across to the great city, in stark contrast, the action was frenzied. Deals being done, bones being broken, acquisitions being made. Carefully the threads were loosened, untangled, removed. No one would ever consider, perhaps, that all those myriad nefarious dealings had but a single source. And should they, well, tracing it to that source, out here, is impossible. Impossible to achieve, impossible to believe.
To have been that careful, for that long, a whole lifetime, is enough, dear reader, to tell you what a remarkable creature we have encountered here. Not one risk, not one chance, not one mistake, across all those decades. Even as her beloved partner found himself in fatal trouble, trouble that she could have solved with no more than a couple of nods in the right direction, she feared it being the means of her discovery. So, she remained unmoved, unmoving.
Decades of loneliness and misery may indeed have followed, but also decades of further success. Not one thing happened for one hundred miles around that armchair without her say-so, without her cut. Regrets? Not a single one. Even as she thought to herself, all those years ago, there was not a shred of doubt or concern.
“I’ll not lift a single bony finger to help him.”
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