A Winter's Tale

Chapter 15:

Chapter 15:
EMERY'S POV:

Two months. It'd been too months since I saw the darkness that was my betrothed. No one mentioned it; no one talked about it. William cast me strange looks any chance he got, muttering things under his breath. Miriam was distant, awkwardly distant, barely speaking five words to me in one sitting. Geoffrey, I never saw him. He left to start his work at the break of dawn, took his lunch with him, and returned well after I'd retired for the night to eat his dinner. Even Alice, my extremely talkative friend, was quiet lately. The most I got out of her now was her quiet opinion on things. A half mumbled, "it's nice," or a, "I like it." She seemed distracted. In fact, everyone seemed distracted. It was like we had all retreated into the worlds inside our brains, thinking of some distant land.

No one every answered my question about who Janine was. I went back to the cemetery one morning. I didn't stay long. It was snowing heavily, and my cloak was no longer providing me warmth. I touched the cold stone of the grave, running my hands over the jagged edges. Who was she? Why was she here? Why did the simple mentioning of her name cause the event I'd been trying to achieve since I arrived at my new home? So many questions that would go unanswered for as long as the people around me could keep quiet about them. I sat now, inside my room, close to the fire. I wasn't sure where Alice was, after breakfast, she'd said something about work, and told me she'd come back to collect me for lunch.

She was my only friend here. I don't know how much longer I could stand this without her excitement, her positivity, her happiness. I was still writing Lucy. Just as I expected, she'd gotten married. It had been a short affair, a betrothal, and then a ceremony a week after that. He was a nice man, she wrote me, handsome, considerate. I was happy for her. She deserved all of the goodness in the world. She said she hurt for me, that she wished I was still there, that we could've gotten married together. I knew that soon, we wouldn't be anything to each other but distant memories. Letters would get more scarce. Shorter, colder, more of an annoyance than communication with a close friend. I would have to live without her. Leave her to her family, her happiness.

I would stay here. In my darkness, with a man whose mystery only intensified after seeing him. It wasn't how I imagined meeting him. Somehow, I'd hoped that we would meet because he'd grown tired of this game he was playing, and he would march into my chambers, revealing every dark secret. We would talk, we would love each other, things would be fine. That would not happen. He had so much darkness, so many secrets, so much pain, it was clear in his eyes. It would take a long time for him to heal, if he ever did. I personally knew how much emotional pain hurt. And, he had more than I could even imagine.

      I looked toward the fire. It's gotten so cold now, fires had to be running in every room, constantly. Geoffrey was working himself to death chopping down enough wood to fuel the flames. The corridors were unbearably cold, so much that you practically ran through them when you left a room. I didn't go outside anymore. It was now too cold to go sit in the garden, even though I found the winter beautiful. The way the snow blanketed the ground, how the trees were barren, even the wildlife- like wolves and foxes- that waited until they could hide themselves behind the trees to wander around.

I wondered what would happen in another few months. It would still be snowing, albeit, lighter than it was now, but still snowing. A few weeks after that, the sun would have more warmth, the snow would begin to melt, the flowers would bloom, and it would be spring again. I assumed by that time, my story would be up. The wedding ceremony would've happened, and whether I lived my life forever wondering about the man that was my husband, or if he decided to come and encompass me in the light, or even if he disappeared from my life, taken by the project he was working on. Perhaps he would die. Perhaps he wouldn't. All of us, from Alice to me, would have to adapt to living our lives without him in it. I sighed, looking down at the leather bound book I had.