This post is Part 5 of a Spin-a-Yarn series of stories. The preceding parts of the story are -
He walked away from the vanilla-scented oakwood to the closet in his room. Facing the mirror, he tilted his head and looked at himself with wide blank eyes filled with pain and longing. He took off the green uniform he was wearing and stowed it away inside the closet. Taking out a maroon gown that smelled like lavender, he put it on and walked gingerly to his dresser. As he looked at himself with bluish grey eyes, he saw nothing but pain; the pain of lost love. The broken bust of a mannequin stood nearby. He took the long dark tresses of a wig on its head in his hands and carefully covered his own ash-blonde head with it. Carefully he dabbed his lips with red lipstick and smiled at himself with fervently forlorn love.
United with his wife once more, he proceeded again to the oakwood table and breathing in the faint smell of vanilla lingering in the air, parted the spine of a journal and began to write.