The Sparrow's Song
TW: SA
The heaven painted the sky pink, something akin to the color of her rouged cheeks. She is late, like always.
“I deserve an entrance, do I not?” Tilting her head to the side, smiling at him sweetly. Her words. Striking arrows, dripping honey.
He watches the sun gradually descend, peeking through the thick cluster of trees. They are not going to have much time together, she has to leave before the stars. What is taking her so long today? What if? No, no he cannot think of that. It could never happen. He hears rustling. It's not her. It's the trees. Murmuring. Probably concerned.
The little grove that hides their love affair is alive with birds returning home, sharing the days delight to their family. Being a bird is not a foolish dream, he sighs. The wind is chilling. He worries she is going to get sick, she forgets her shawl so often. He cannot lend her his coat. The suspicion it would bring. No. He hears a steady huff and running foot steps. It's her. The air is of sweet wine. Intoxicating.
“I apologize, Henry. The maids would not leave me alone.” She stops a few paces away from him, out of breath, her hands on her knees, strands of hair framing her face, parted lips, the shining eyes. He opens his mouth, suddenly out of breath like he is the one who was running. She is wearing her shawl, he is relieved.
She straightens and skips towards him. Something is different about her today, she is cheery. After what happened a month ago she had been distant, her head in the clouds, she had felt so far away even with her hands in his.
“Henry! I might die today.” Her eyes filled with tears, her head on his chest.
“You look happy today, love?” He offers her his hand to pull her beside him. She dodges it and spins in a circle, the cream silk dress flares, the sun setting the cloth ablaze. Wildfire.
“Oh, Henry! I am so delighted today.” She tells him with her hand clasped to her chest and spins again.
He smiles and gets up, she skips further away from him, a game of chase. Similar to one they played as kids. She really is happy today.
“Henry! Catch me, Henry.” Her little feet running down the hill towards him. Arms spread, grinning. All teeth.
“Are you going to tell me what happened that made you so happy?” He finally gets close to her and catches her arm, she shivers and takes her hand away.
She giggles and gets close, cups his face in her hands and looks into his eyes. There is such calmness in them. Still waters. So easy to drown in.
“I figured it out Henry. I have decided. I am finally at peace.” She smiles ear to ear as if she has figured out the sun and the moon and the whole creation.
“What is it that you figured out?” He asks, intrigued, giddy in her happiness.
“Let's never meet again as lovers.”
“Henry let's carve our initials on this stone. Let's make our love last forever.” Hands holding a knife. Reeking flowers.
“Do you find this amusing?” He frowns. He tries to read her face. Nothing. The same stillness but no longer peaceful. Stifling.
“I am serious. You know? My sadness stilled when I imagined a life without you.” She smiles at him. He shivers.
“How can you think of that. How am I at fault?” He says slowly in disbelief, looking at the nothing beyond her.
“Not your fault, Henry. Fate’s.” She steps towards him and touches his arm. He pulls her close, holding her shoulders in a death grip.
“Is it because of the wedding tomorrow. You know it changes nothing.” He shakes her, trying to wake himself up from this nightmare.
“Everything changed that day, Henry. We just refused to believe it.” She hugs him.
“I don't care about that. Why do you?” He pushes her away, stepping away from her, as if the distance between them would remind her of the reality she proposed.
“You will, after tomorrow.” she says, her fingers pulling at the stray thread on her left sleeve.
“Why? Do you care about him now? Is that it?” He rages, everything else around them falls silent. Noiseless Nature.
“You do not understand, Henry. I-” she starts.
“Make me understand then. Do you love him now? Is the physical bond stronger than the soul poets rant about?” He closes in and takes her in his arms, gripping on her like a drowning man.
“You are being a kid, Henry.” She pulls herself away leaning against the tree. A lone tear slides down her face.
“You don't love me anymore. You love him, you love the man who took you in as a ward and married you when you came of age.” He falls to his knees and crawls towards her crumpling her skirt in his hands.
“You know nothing of this world, you are made of clouds. Nothing changed for you that day. Maybe, nothing will change for you tomorrow but I died that day, Henry and you didn't shed a tear.” She caresses his head. Comforting. Strangling.
“My hands were tied and you know that too well. You are thinking too much, nothing will change my love for you. You are beside yourself. Don't do this. If you ask I won't even touch her. I will never touch her.” He looks up at her, her eyes red, of the dying sun. A man begging at the feet of a deity. Making promises. Selling Souls.
She frees herself from him and starts on her way back.
“You are blinded by spring, honey. You will cry when leaves fall.”
“To hell with your poetry. Go away then! Go away! Never show me your face again!” His face is grotesque, the frown unnatural. She turns, looks at him and is stunned. She wants to get close and embrace him, but no. Never again.
She turns and just as she reaches the end of the grove, he grabs her hand and pulls her throwing her on the ground.
“Nothing changed that day. Except a man touching your body for the first time. If that is what it takes to take back your affection. Then- ” He kneels on the ground beside her, tears in his eyes as he tears into the love he supposedly has.
“I can fix it, Anne. I can fix it.” He keeps on repeating.
“Here, Anne. I picked a rose for you.” A young boy grin. Thorns painting his hand red.
She stares at the stars slowly appearing in the sky, she makes sure nothing escapes her lips. She looks at the birds flying overhead. She hears them tittering. It was strange that the birds flew their nests at night.
To be continued
Man this left me feeling hollow inside. So pretty and delicate and sharp, like a knife. I'm glad there's more coming!
This was hard to read in the way stories sometimes need to be. The shift from tenderness to control was chilling, especially because it felt so quiet at first. Her clarity versus his refusal to see it really stayed with me. I’m still thinking about the birds at the end, like the world noticing what just happened, even when she can’t speak.