When Love Runs Deep

On an early autumn morning, sunlight slanted across the bluestone road, and the shadows of the plane trees stretched long and thin. I stood at the end of a narrow alley in the old city, looking up at the three-story gray-brick building before me. Its outer walls were mottled, with patches of plaster fallen away to reveal traces of an even older coat of paint beneath. The window frames were wooden, their color faded to white, and several fine cracks ran across the glass. The iron gate at the entrance was covered in rust, with scrape marks around the keyhole from repeated attempts to pry it open.