paradox ⛤ h.s.

⛤ three ⛤

My heart leads with a thunderous melody, warning me of the danger that lies at my feet. My shaking bones somehow carry me to the fate I made for myself, with the help of cold hands and stinging rope wrapped around my wrist.

A familiar scream cries out from the previously silent multitude situated below me. I can't hear, I can't think, I can barely see.

I take what my senses are giving me and look up at the sky, clouds darkening overhead.

Mother, please help me.

⛤ ⛤ ⛤

I awaken the next morning to swollen eyes, a sign that last night wasn't a nightmare and I surely cried myself to sleep. I don't believe Isaac came to bed at all, which is the first time that has ever happened. Even after the first incident, I still woke with him beside me the following day.

I pull myself together and remove myself from the soft linens that I'd rather stay in all day than deal with whatever is to come. I pad across the wooden floor and over to the washbin sitting in the corner of the room. I bend down and throw water on my face in an attempt to bring down the swelling. It would be so much easier to toss myself aside and climb back into bed, but I must persist and go about my day.

I get ready quickly and head down the stairs, hoping I don't run into my husband at the bottom of them. I tuck myself behind the brittle railing and make sure he isn't in before I shuffle down the last few steps.

The kettle is not on. The fire is not lit. I sigh to myself, wondering why my own husband cannot understand the unlikeness of his wife. I can't wrap my head around why it would matter to him so much if he truly, honestly loves me the way he vowed he always would.

I brush it off and decide to skip my morning tea rather than wait for the water to come to a boil. I'd rather quickly rid myself of this solemn home that has turned cold to the touch and be in the company of someone who actually wants me around. So, I do what I do every morning and pick out things for Mrs. Mayberry's breakfast. Today, I pack wildberry muffins, roasted pumpkin seeds, and sausage that Isaac bought from the butcher days ago. He'll never eat it, and if he does end up missing it, that scolding can't be worse than anything I've endured from him before. I grab her salve I curated specifically for her before I forget. I also decide to take her a tea blend I worked on a few days prior to help with a clear perspective and inner healing.

I carefully clean up any crumbs before heading towards the front door where I lace up my faithful dusty boots and grab my weathered satchel, tossing it across me as I take the wicker basket in my hands. I stand outside of my house, watching the village- unassuming as it usually is. No one even looks at me, and I am quite fed up with the undignified ruins of what being the neighbor of a witch means to them.

I scoff at the uncertainty of the day and head down the beaten path that my footsteps have become lovers with. After the fourteen minute walk, I reach the quaint cottage where the sky always looks just a tad bit brighter. I place my knuckles upon the door three times and open it to see Mrs. Mayberry, flashing her usual softened grin.

"Good morning, Rhiannon," she greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. My mood lifts instantly upon seeing her welcoming smile and ever-lovely rosy cheeks. I step across the threshold and place the basket on her clothed kitchen table that is placed a little too close to the door. "Something is bothering you."

"I'm okay, Mrs. Mayberry," I assure her as I unpack her goodies and start preparing her place at the table with the dinnerware she has already laid out. "We are having muffins, pumpkin seeds, and sausage this morning!"

"That sounds wonderful, but something is wrong with you. I have known you most of your life, little bird," her face softens as she places her hand on my cheek. I sigh as I can never keep anything from her— she's too powerful of a woman. "Let me put on the kettle for this tea and we will talk over breakfast."