paradox ⛤ h.s.

⛤ one ⛤

I see nothing but my feet.

One in front of the other.

Heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe.

My wrists are bound together tightly with the burn of a thousand fires. My heart pounds as I look up toward the sky and flinch at the raindrops falling onto my eyelashes. It is such a gloomy day- fit for the occasion.

Today is the day I will be hanged. Today is the day I will die.

massachusetts, october 1692
rhiannon

I wake with the sun, the rays warming my face. My eyes flutter open to see the linen curtains dancing in the cool October breeze, let in by the open window. As usual, the spot next to me is vacant where my husband should be. I cannot remember the last time Isaac slept in with me. He is up and gone every day before I even have the chance to tell him goodbye. We no longer share breakfast in bed, laughter before daybreak, or stolen kisses under covers; nothing that I ever dreamed love would be. His gavel awaits- the courtroom sees more of his sincerity than our own bedroom does.

Even so, he is a good man and someone I am proud to call my husband. If it weren't for him, I would have nothing. He has given me a sense of security and a way in the world. I don't come from a wealthy family but my father did everything in his power to make certain that my future was ensured.  After the death of my mother, everything he had worked so hard for had dissipated. He knew that in order for me to battle the predetermined destiny that was in store for me, I had to venture into a completely new life. That's where my beloved husband, Judge Issac Warren, comes in. Four years ago, my father reached out to his lifelong friend, Issac's father, and devised for Issac and I to be wed. Since then I have become someone I do not recognize.

Keep your head down, don't speak unless you are spoken to, and never bring shame onto the Warren name again.

Every little girl pictures a fairytale in which their lover knows everything about them, loves every part of them, and embraces who they are. That has just never been the case with Isaac and I. I am reminded just how lucky I am to have him everyday. He does not, and will not ever, let me forget.

He hasn't always been so coarse. At the start of our union, he was wonderful. His benevolence was what I loved most about him; the way he'd play with the children in town, or help out around the shops even after working full days— it is why I fell in love with him. Over time, however, his soft edge somehow warped into a sharpened blade, and his words became a dagger to the heart of the person I am.

Now, a cold and barren soul takes place of the man who once picked me flowers on his walk home just because he was thinking of me. These days, all I get is lukewarm dinner and the squeaking springs of him coming to bed after me.

As my pale feet hit the dark wood of our bedroom, I stop at the window to bask in the rays that are shining a spotlight on the dust particles floating about. Mother Nature is showing off this dewy morning considering the past few nights of storms.

I shuffle through the bleak home we share, the creaking floorboards carrying me in harmony to the kitchen. I let out a soft sigh as I catch a glimpse of the man my husband used to be. The kettle is still on the stove, hot water awaiting me for my morning tea. Moments like these are the only reminder I have that I may still have a husband and not just a ghost that I share passing glances with— the tea kettle left on for me, the fireplace still lit on cold mornings, or a folded towel placed beside my bath.