The Girl Who Loved Too Much

Chapter one

     The breeze blew cool; cooler than what was usual for the time of year. Instead of spring promising the coming warmth of summer, it had decided to provide a taste of what fall had in store; or perhaps it was simply the coming April showers that were consistent with their name.

     Nevertheless, the touch of the North blew tenderly, deceptively so, in the hope that none would notice it's harsh caress; and in the case of Elizabeth, this deception was successful, which was uncommon; Elizabeth silently prided herself in noticing such nuances. But today, instead of musing the odd change in weather, the piercing brown eyes, so dark that they were easily mistaken for being black, were focused intently on the expansive woodland that lay behind her home.

     She shivered, almost imperceptibly; yet it was of no fault, as one might assume, of the breeze that engulfed her, playing with her hair which was pulled and tied behind her in a simple, pedestrian manner, and toying with the dress that she wore. She shivered again, this time rubbing her arms vigorously as if to chase away the cold touch that assaulted her.

     The spirited wind was not alone. A lilting, carefree laughter rode its waves, reaching Elizabeth's ear and then dissipating away, chased thither and hither throughout the leaves and twisted bramble by the wind. The sound, though happy in nature, also seemed to embody a sense of mocking, as if it were the result of a whispered inside joke that Elizabeth did not know. It was haunting to her ear. It taunted her to make more of it than a simple expression of joy, and Elizabeth accepted the challenge, knowing that it lacked the innocence of childish laughter.

     Yet that was all she knew; it lacked innocence and was filled with some other emotion. She did not yet understand the emotion, and that in particular made her tremble. Deep down she knew the producer of the noise that bothered her was just as mortal as she was, surely, but every once in a while she recalled the stories that her older brother had told her when she was small: of goblins and trolls and witches that made the woods their residence. She shook these thoughts away, reminding herself that she was a young woman of sixteen years in age and should no longer entertain such childish thoughts.

     Despite there being a sense of guilt at giving room to such a possibility of the woods being full of monsters, there was also a stubborn feeling that maybe such an idea wasn't completely illogical. Elizabeth considered herself quite logical and intelligent for her age, as those who often lack both might do. Others would call her precocious, stubborn, and more often than not, pretentious. Regardless what one would call it, Elizabeth had decided long ago that she could not immediately discredit something she could not disprove herself. The only way to prove the laughter did not belong to the ghostly laments of the spirits in the woods was to venture into the uninviting expanse of grandiose giants that stood with their armor of wood and swords of twisting branches. This was not something she was going to do alone; and so she surrendered momentarily that perhaps the laughter did belong to supernatural creatures, and perhaps that was better than it belonging to any mortal; for if it were the latter, than Elizabeth would have to continue to ponder what mortal essence other than innocence had embodied the laughter.

     The laughter soon dissipated completely with the wind, lost to the dark forest, taking with it the sense of unease it had produced in the young girl. Elizabeth stood still a while longer, listening to the rustling of the leaves and the low whistle that chased itself amidst the trees. Then she turned her back to the forest and lifted her eyes toward the sun, squinting, until the brightness forced her away. She guessed by its position that shortly the shameless spectacle that took place religiously before the set of each weekend sun would commence.

     It wasn't at all a spectacle one was forced to be a part of, but there seemed to be an unspoken agreement to attend and an even stronger unspoken expectation for one to participate; this was all to the fault of the prestigious Whitfield heir who in those parts was the elmblem of fashion and modern decorum, and had one day found it worthy for her to descend from her ivory tower and have her chauffeur drive from the country to the city for the sole purpose that she may walk up and down their streets; to grace the poor peasants with her beauty and superior style- what she did, high society, or those brave enough to deem themselves such, quickly and unquestionably followed suit. Elizabeth had once before refrained from going through the fuss of parading herself as were she a conceited peacock, and the next day people had asked if she had been ill, as if only an illness ridding one to their bed was an acceptable excuse of absence; and without hesitation she responded that she indeed had been ill. She had continued with exaggerated detail of her aching stomach and intense nausea, to which she felt no guilt at her exaggeration for in her mind she was not lying completely. She had been sick; sick and tired of the vanity of it all. She hated having to dress up for the meaningless exercise of walking up and down their street; walking up and down, up and down. She hated the hypocrisy of the smiles and empty conversation that one had to trade for the privilege of simply walking. But what she hated more was that it's sole existence was dictated by the flickle will of a silly headed young girl. However, she had since decided that missing the tradition was not worth the effort of feigning illness. And though she wouldn't admit it, she had begun to enjoy it- or perhaps enjoy is too strong of a word; tolerate is perhaps more accurate. She still couldn't understand the need for the grand production of it all, but she was starting to tolerate the companionship, as vapid as it was in reality. It's not that she now ignored the oddities of her neighbors, she just now found them interesting and worth her observance and study. For though at first glance one would rightfully determine every neighbor quite normal and rather dull, Elizabeth had begun to notice intriguing, minute details that she had not noticed before. She did not know whether she had been ignorant of these details or if they had been there all along. For some of these, it was the latter; they had been present for a long while.