Ribbons, by Mister M - WSW 2022
Jun 19, 2022 14:34:50 GMT -5
the panopticountolaf, R., and 1 more like this
Post by Isadora Is a Door on Jun 19, 2022 14:34:50 GMT -5
She held the ribbon in her hands, threading it through her fingers with impatience. Waiting was never one of her skills, and the heat of the day only increased her difficulty. Sweat was beading down her, pasting her dress against her skin, and her throat was growing dry and itchy. She had sequesterd herself between two trees to give herself some cover, but the little trees provided even smaller shade. As the sun travlled past and the shadows lengthed, she knew that she was running out of time.
The blood oranges were well past ripe, and occasionally she would hear a soft plop as one would drop to the ground, bursting around her. Her nostrils filled with a sharpy sweet scent, sickening her stomach. She was surrounded by them, a thousand fistfuls of blood.
She had been here for most of the afternoon, and her hope was fading fast. At first she had been confident he would come, but her doubts had now overtaken her. She paced in a small circle between two trees, her thoughts consuming her.
She had delivered the message to him during last nights performance. She had been an actress, a part she had played many times over, being chased by a group of ballerinas, and he had been the critic in the third row. She had given the note to her associate, the doorman, and they had passed the ticket on to him. During the interval, she had recieved a reply;
It was from a poem he had recited to her, inbetween these very trees. She had thought that she had understood, but now she felt she was mistaken. Perhaps he had not meant to meet her here, that she had wasted her last day in vain.
Tomorrow The Prospero would set sail, and their time together would be at an end. She would go back to her life as it was before, to her husband and her children, to her mansion and her secret missions, and to VFD. She would leave all of it behind, forever. She had to. She had a responsibility. She had explained all of this to him, in her letter. The thought of it made a coy smile creep across her face. It seemed that she had a tendency to write long letters expalining why her relationships were simply never going to work out. She supposed everyone needed a hobby.
Perhaps the letter was enough. She should have give it to him in person, today. But it was too late. He wasn't here. Perhaps it didn't matter, she had sworn to herself she would never see him again after today, but she had doubted herself resolve. Seeing him again, it would have only made it harder to resist temptation. Now, temptation has resisted her.
Eventually, Beatrice sat between the two trees, resting her head against a trunk, and watching as the sun dissolved benearth the horizon.
She plucked a few stray leaves from a branch of tree, and only then did she remember the ribbon, threaded between her finger so long ago. He had given her the ribbon a few weeks ago, when their affair had begun. He had bought it for her has a present, though she had no real sue for it. Her mother had used to tie her hair up, to keep it out of her eyes whilst developing her inventions. Daniel had remembered the story, and so the gift was more of a momento than a practical affair.
She took the ribbon and tied it around a branch of the tree. She did not know if he would find it, if he would ever come here and see, it did not matter. It was for the best, that this part of the past be tied up and left behind.
She had things to be getting back to.
The blood oranges were well past ripe, and occasionally she would hear a soft plop as one would drop to the ground, bursting around her. Her nostrils filled with a sharpy sweet scent, sickening her stomach. She was surrounded by them, a thousand fistfuls of blood.
She had been here for most of the afternoon, and her hope was fading fast. At first she had been confident he would come, but her doubts had now overtaken her. She paced in a small circle between two trees, her thoughts consuming her.
She had delivered the message to him during last nights performance. She had been an actress, a part she had played many times over, being chased by a group of ballerinas, and he had been the critic in the third row. She had given the note to her associate, the doorman, and they had passed the ticket on to him. During the interval, she had recieved a reply;
"Through facing fears, you have no tears,
the world has dried your eyes"
the world has dried your eyes"
It was from a poem he had recited to her, inbetween these very trees. She had thought that she had understood, but now she felt she was mistaken. Perhaps he had not meant to meet her here, that she had wasted her last day in vain.
Tomorrow The Prospero would set sail, and their time together would be at an end. She would go back to her life as it was before, to her husband and her children, to her mansion and her secret missions, and to VFD. She would leave all of it behind, forever. She had to. She had a responsibility. She had explained all of this to him, in her letter. The thought of it made a coy smile creep across her face. It seemed that she had a tendency to write long letters expalining why her relationships were simply never going to work out. She supposed everyone needed a hobby.
Perhaps the letter was enough. She should have give it to him in person, today. But it was too late. He wasn't here. Perhaps it didn't matter, she had sworn to herself she would never see him again after today, but she had doubted herself resolve. Seeing him again, it would have only made it harder to resist temptation. Now, temptation has resisted her.
Eventually, Beatrice sat between the two trees, resting her head against a trunk, and watching as the sun dissolved benearth the horizon.
She plucked a few stray leaves from a branch of tree, and only then did she remember the ribbon, threaded between her finger so long ago. He had given her the ribbon a few weeks ago, when their affair had begun. He had bought it for her has a present, though she had no real sue for it. Her mother had used to tie her hair up, to keep it out of her eyes whilst developing her inventions. Daniel had remembered the story, and so the gift was more of a momento than a practical affair.
She took the ribbon and tied it around a branch of the tree. She did not know if he would find it, if he would ever come here and see, it did not matter. It was for the best, that this part of the past be tied up and left behind.
She had things to be getting back to.