Deserted Masterpiece. She put a drop of cognac in a teacup, placed the bottle back on a glass shelf, turned her head slightly, as if listening to a bell from a chapel, reached again for the bottle and filled the cup. Her eyes glistened in light that reflected from a dim, rainy day sun, through multi-faceted beveled edges of the window. The room was pink and dark. Her thin fingers rubbed the rim of the small, delicate tea cup's gold rim. She felt the lovely curves of the cup's shapely, porcelain body. It was an heirloom. From Grandmother. She tried not to think or feel. A wave of gentle, calm sadness drifted over her like a shadow from clouds in a stormy sky. She sipped. She stared at the lush green foliage that led up the path, to a wood arch that framed the gate in the front yard. It was painted lavendar and she noticed that the corners were beginning to fade and peel after the rain the week before. Her hand trembled slightly with memories of the flooding landscape. When would he return? And was she to blame?