Chatterbox: Inkwell

Meadow of Faults

I was reading Wuthering Heights outside yesterday when the mailman came and delivered a project. Then a single short fragment of a story popped into my head. Imagine this as just a part of one, somewhere in the middle of the story. Also, I didn't really edit the dialogue, just added a bit here and there. Please do tell me what you think!

"Mrs. Fendwick, a package for you, Ma'am," a dark haired man with weeping eyes and ragged clothes says, pulling forward a small box.

"I am not Mrs. Fendwick, but that of her daughter,"

"Does thou mother reside here?"

"I fear she resides in a place unreachable by man. Her screams haunt this old glory like that of the man's face melted to the moon," the girl says, pushing a lock of auburn hair away with pale fingers.

"Has she died, Ma'am?" The man asks, face falling in bewilderment.

"Nay, yet her fair soul wonders from time to time."

With wide eyes, the man speaks, patting the miss on the arm and tipping his haggled hat.

"With all due respect, I must be on my way. Do give the mistress my wishes." 

"That shan't be necessary, kind sir, now come hither. I shall tell you of a bird's call," the sly girl says, beckoning with a slender finger. "The mistress enjoys a fair soul. I fear she has yet to leave one sane, in whole."

The man's dead eyes appear wide as day as he frantically steps back, staring at the girl as if she were a madman.

"Might I ask where you shall run?"

"Thou are quite delirious, Ma'am! I must go call for Mr. Wilkie promptly, miss. You need a doctor, that shall do the trick. Or might I just be losing mind to the wind?"

"There is no such thing wrong with myself, much less thou. It is my late mother, the mistress thou should be frightful of," the girl speaks delicately, standing up with her foreign book in hand.

"Late? Is the mistress not alive as spoken of so lightly?"

"Might it be a shock if I described my mother as late yet wondering hungry and alone? Lad, there is nowhere for you to go. When thou o'clock comes as mine did, you shall understand."

"Ma'am? Ma'-"

With a flash, the atmosphere collapses upon the man's broken soul. The haggard life sinks, the wind knocked out of his soul. The fair girl lays her masked book upon his chest, smiling with a tilted head before turning with the lightest air, leaving the man to die.

With all that starts, all must end. Unless you are soulless, having lost your life centuries before.