Hungering Teeth.

XII.

MAY 20th, 1791

𓇼

The sun kissed the earth with a tenderness I could never muster in return, and I watched, half in awe, as it glided each blade of grass, each stalk of radish, tomatoes, with a golden radiance. There is something almost divine about the way light wraps itself around life, I thought, as if the world itself were being sanctified by a silent prayer. And there was Enid, her soft hands deftly gathering the harvest, her laughter dancing in the wind as though it had always belonged there.

She delighted in this, in the bounty of the land and the simplicity of the toil, as though it fulfilled something deep within her soul.

I, however, was distracted.

The weight of the soil beneath my boots could not root me to this place, nor could the honest labor cleanse me of my thoughts. My hands move mechanically, but my mind had already wandered— far from this field.

I had promised to see Luther today.

And with that promise came a knot of anticipation, tightening, suffocating, deliciously sweet and bitter all at once. The thought of him pulled me like the tide, and though my duties to the land and to Enid should have been enough, they were not.

My heart beat faster with each passing moment, as if rushing me toward him, toward the only thing that truly mattered.

"Catch!" she called out, tossing a tomato my way.

I caught it deftly, grinning at her as I took a bite.

The thin skin split, yielding to the pressure of my teeth with a faint pop.

Immediately, the taste flooded my mouth—a burst of sweetness intertwined with a sharp, tangy edge. The juice spilled over my tongue, cool and refreshing, almost like a summer rain.

The juices of the tomato trickled down my chin, as I savored the simple pleasure of its taste, of the wholesomeness in front of me and the honest nature of our work. In another life, perhaps, I would be content here, nestled in this idyllic world of Enid's. But part of me yearned for something else, something more than just this.

I hummed.

"You're quiet today," Enid said softly, glancing up from her task, her eyes searching mind. "Something troubling you, dear?"

Her innocence stung.

"Nothing at all," I lied, my voice thick with the weight of unspoken things.

She smiled, unaware of the tremor beneath my calm, and returned to her work, humming an old hymn.

I turned my back to her, guilt gnawing at my insides like a worm at the core of an apple.

It wouldn't be long now. Soon, I would see Luther, and with him, I would leave behind the pretense of this life, if only for a little while.

𓇼

"I've been thinking about the future," Luther said, "Catherine and me... we're set to marry in the spring."

Each word hit me like a stone, heavy and cold, sinking into the depths of my heart. I nodded, though it felt like a betrayal to acknowledge it. "That's... that's wonderful," I forced out.

"What about you?" he asked, his gaze searching mine. "With Enid and the baby... you'll have your own family."

The thought of Enid, radiant and full of hope, intertwined with the life we had built on dreams and quiet moments, made my heart clench. "Yes, I suppose so," I replied, my voice distant, as if I were speaking of someone else's life. "But... is that really what we want?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to run away with you," I confessed, the words spilling out before I could catch them. "Leave all of this behind. We could find a place where we could be... free."

"Agnus, I want that too. More than anything. But can we really abandon everything? Our families... our futures?"

"I can't imagine a future without you," I admitted, my voice trembling. "But every moment we spend together feels like it's stolen—like we're living a lie. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with this... with losing you."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I fought to hold them back, but the sorrow was too deep. "You deserve happiness, Luther. You deserve a life filled with love and laughter... even if it isn't with me."

He looked away, and I could see the conflict within him, the struggle between his duty and his heart. "And what about you? What happens when you're tied to Enid and the baby? Will you be happy?"

A hollow laugh escaped me. "I don't know. I should be, shouldn't I?"

"Promise me," I whispered, "that you'll remember me—this me." I add.

"Always," he vowed, his voice breaking, and at that moment, I could see the love and fear mirrored in his eyes—a reflection of my own heart.

As the last sliver of sunlight disappeared, we stood in silence, two souls intertwined yet irrevocably separate, bound by love but shackled by fate.

𓇼

ripedsins.