Ruth: Reimagined

Breathe

🍁🍁🍁

Breathe
🍁🍁🍁

The sun's rays cut through the crevices of the linen curtains, reflecting on the wooden polished floor. Ruth's chambers were built and embroidered with the essence of Moabs' wealth. The colours purple, white, and a deep blue surrounding the room.

The wooden dressing table stood by the wall, in the center of the room. It held all types of jewelry, gold, silver, diamonds, crystals that she prayed with, and the ones she adorned her body with.

Ruth was dressed in a purple sheath dress that complimented her warm skin. Held in her hand was an oval shaped, polished copper mirror crafted in Egypt. It wasn't a brilliant image, but her reflection was vivid and noticeable. She held the look in her brown eyes, forcing a smile, and it faltered.

She placed the mirror down, staying still for a moment until she heard their voices again.

Ruth got up from her seat abruptly, running to the door, before she missed a word. She pressed her ear to the wooden door frame. The murmurings from the other side weren't clear, but she could hear the firm way in which her father spoke and the soft way in which her mother enquired. She could also hear the stranger.

The stranger and his elders had been talking to her parents for about an hour now.

The stranger's voice was strong, filling the room, the house with this distinct rumble. It made her heart beat against her chest. He spoke with a thick Moabite accent, but there was an underlying, almost faint sound of something else. Ammonite? Timinite?

Ruth had no idea. All she wanted was for him to leave. Leave like all the others.

"-Sir Barak - it would be an honour to have Lady Ruth as my bride." The rest of the strangers' words blurred out. Ruth's eyes burned, the dark colour becoming more vivid.

Ruth strained her ears to hear her father's response. It sounded curt. It sounded like he agreed because a second later, she heard the sound of cheers and applause. The room was alive, while hers remained stagnant.

Her father was truly giving her away, at just eighteen. She knew that tons of girls had been married even younger, with one of her friends being handed into marriage at the age of twelve, but still, she felt a fiery burn settle in her chest.

She wanted to walk out of her room and deny the proposal, like she did the first few times with the other set of men but she didn't want to see the horror colour her mother's cheeks, the shame in her eyes and hear the disappointment in the tone of her voice. So she stayed put, her mind escaping her.

An exhale tore out of her chest, she slumped to the floor, hopeless, her back against the door.

It was moments, like this, mundane depressing moments when she thought of her grandmother. A year had passed since her death, but Ruth still had the scars on her arms. She still had that ache in her chest that didn't hurt less, but that was constantly pushed deeper and deeper into the depths of her heart.

~🍁~

It was after six months of mourning her grandmother that involved the family dressing in white, prayers offered to Chemosh and to her grandmother that would watch over them, a close ancestor. As well as forsaking meat, sticking to certain foods, and denying a few pleasures in life.

It was the ninth hour of the night. The moon had risen over Moab. Ruth lay in her chambers, trying to fall asleep. She contemplated on escaping and running off with one of her father's camels, like she did when she was a child, so she could climb up the hills, or sit by the ravines and listen to nature; Ruth found that it always had the same thing to say-be still.