Illicit

Chapter One

The human mind is afraid of nothing, or this is how mine functions. While I do consider society's views, beliefs, and generally keep things private, I see nothing wrong with who I am and whom I love. It is seen as a burden, worthy of a slow and painful death. But why should one suffer for something as simple as love; something that should and may one day be seen as ordinary... anyone with anybody? It is not a hard concept to grasp, at least for a bystander, but the feeling is a bit more tricky.

Not too long ago, around the age of 17, my dearest friend Cecile and I were inseparable. It was 2 or so years ago, but I still remember her vividly, with her breath blowing against my shoulders behind the room divider. We would do everything together, always a two person job. We would lay together in my old canopy, sharing stories for hours upon hours until we dozed off into each other's arms. I remember burying my nose in the crook of her neck and the way smelled of daffodils with a hint of vanilla.

I was born into an empire with the expectation to uphold my duties and maintain a good influence. I've never done anything "wrong," except for my actions with Cecile, which were bound to change everything. Sooner or later we would have been caught. I should have figured, but my undaunted mind got the best of me.

I still don't know what happened to Cécile. I witnessed my mother dragging her out of my chamber, then handing her to the guards. I should have gone after her, and I'll forever live with that guilt. My mother believes that she manipulated me, or was even brainwashed. I tell her that she's full of it, and that I've never been better. She doesn't believe me.

The day we were caught was a perfectly normal day, nothing unusual happened and we went about it as is. She would visit in the mornings when she wasn't already there and we would get ready for the day. It seems so simple, yet these were some of our most intimate moments. We would let our pride, our sorrows, and our dreams fall into conversation like sprinkles of rain on a spring afternoon. We would braid each other's hair and occasionally braid flowers into them. This was one of our favorite things to do. Her favorite color was dark green, mine purple, and we would always use these flowers.

We met when we were younger, about 5 or so years before. We enjoyed each other's company just as much as any other girl would enjoy a friend, but it gradually became more innermost. I think we both knew what was going to happen between us, but our love was infinite and the consequences became more invisible than glass.

On the night of my 17th birthday, Cecile and I had finished supper and went to my chamber to read and play games. As she was dominating me in a game of chess, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a beautiful golden locket. I held it beside the flickering lamp to get a closer look. Engraved in the front was a cygnet. I traced my finger along the lines of the swan, trying to memorize every loop and curve. Cecile scooted to my side of the table and rested her head on my shoulder.

"It reminds me of you. I once read in a book that it symbolizes beauty, grace, and love," she says with a voice gentler than a lamb.

I could feel her fingers combing through the strands of my tangled hair, and I'm not sure what I was thinking at the time, but I leaned over and kissed her. The evening went on and then turned to dawn. Life was idyllic, days of wine and roses, until my mother sauntered into my chamber and looked into the bed where Cécile and I lie.

My mother looked horrified, sad, but mostly disappointed. I knew I had let her down, not growing and acting the ways that I was taught. Though I worried for myself and what my future held, at the moment all I could truly think about was Cécile. What would happen now that she and I have been caught, and what will my mother do to her? I didn't have time to reflect on this question, because the next thing I remember was my mother crying hysterically while dragging Cecile away. That was the last I saw of Cecile; her eyes full of despair. I didn't go after her, but I promised myself that I would someday find her; because if I didn't, I don't think I could live.

I haven't found contact with her, but I like to write daily as it gives me a sense of hope. I write about our hopes and dreams, and how I was going to find her again someday. Perhaps God will help us find our way. After I complete each letter, I seal them and hide them behind the trunk at the foot of my bed. Neither my mother or father have talked to me much since the incident, I supposed they're still contemplating on what to do with me. I tried promising that I won't make another mistake, but they shook their heads and shut me away. I don't worry too much about them finding the letters, and my room keeper never goes anywhere near them.

Last night I dreamt about Cecile and I. It was dawn and we had packed our important belongings into the saddle bags. I don't fully remember the details, but we had to run away because something terrible had happened. It was most definitely life or death, because I woke up in a cold sweat.

After staring at the ceiling for a while and counting sheep, I must have fallen back asleep. To my surprise, the dream continued. We began to sneak through the tunnels, keeping an eye out for any guards. And to our advantage, the only ones we passed were drunken and distracted. We made it through the main halls of the castle, then sprinted down through the tunnels that led to a hilly portion of the land. When you reach the exterior of the castle, there's a stony road that leads a path through the hills. We ran along the path, slowing down for the last minute of the walk. Eventually we were greeted with the sight of a tall wooden horse stable with dried hay falling out of the windows. We turned to each other, questioning through eye contact; "Are you ready? Should we really do this?" I nodded in reassurance and took a step into the mud.

The rest of the dream seems a blur. I remember gathering two horses and riding North towards the woods. From there, my dream either ended or I was too caught up to remember anything that happened. Maybe we started new lives in a tiny cottage surrounded by flowers and pollinators. And perhaps we would bake biscuits with honey and tea for breakfast. If not, maybe we found ourselves at another kingdom, one where we would be accepted. Either way I would be happy. To me it does not matter, for the fact that we would be on our own adventure; together.