A Garden of Virtues

The days are growing shorter. Gusts of wind blow away the last bits of red and golden leaves clinging to the trees. Ophelia walks through the garden, her heavy, curling blonde hair falling behind her suspended in a kerchief. In her arms is a basket of gourds. A hand snatches her from behind. She turns and meets a mirthful gaze. "Shelley!" She scowls unpleasantly. "Don't bother me." Ignoring her, he binds her hands, forcing her to drop her basket. The gourds roll around the hem of her threadbare skirt. "How quickly it's grown cold. Isn't it invigorating, this wind?" "Stop this nonsense. See what you've made me do? You'll have bruised squash for dinner." "My love, can't you stop a moment and look over the river? Look at the golden trees, touched with the very last bit of daylight. Have you ever noticed how they grow orange before it gets dark?" "I've never had a mind to look. And I am not 'your lo