It was late, but Rena was accustomed to the hour; she often worked the last shift at the pub and found it suited her. Besides, since Thomas had returned safely home, the pressure of holding everything together was off and she was at last sleeping again. She did her final rounds about the kitchen and, satisfied that everything was in its place, she took a steaming cup of tea to go sit by the fire before she left for the evening.
Rena was surprised when she saw a crouched figure silhouetted against the glow of the flames where she had so often sat to pen the letters she never sent to her family. It was strangely disorienting, seeing someone else in that place. It took another moment for recognition to set in, for Rena to realize that it was Molly seated there, and that she seemed to be struggling with pen in her hand, her brown furrowed in deep concentration.
Her first instinct was to back away, to slip away unseen. After all, when she wrote her letters, she hoped none would happen upon her and witness her private ritual. But then, Molly didn't seem to hide quite so many secrets and she seemed to be struggling so much. It went against Rena's better judgment to let on just how proficient she was with a pen as writing was an uncommon skill amongst commoners, particularly women.
It seemed as though her decision would be made for her, though, when Molly glanced up from her work, her eyes falling on Rena right away. Rena could only smile. "Hope I'm not interrupting," she offered quietly.