The Whipping Tree

I: Charcoal and Cerulean

I

Charcoal and Cerulean

         Joan lifts her arms and the sleeves of the dress she’s being stitched into flap ridiculously. She is breathing shallowly from the bodice and she can hardly bend at the waist. What is snug leaves her no room for air, and what is loose billows in the breeze sweeping in from her open balcony doors.

         She stands still while the maids work around her; fussing over how she looks at this point will be of no use.

         Gazing into the mirror, she rubs the rouge on her cheeks and gives a small sneeze at the powder that comes loose from her face. Her appearance borders on lewd and she wonders why it is necessary to be dressed in such a way.

         When the maids finish preparing her, Gareth is allowed up the stairs and into her bedroom. He holds a small pot of ink and uses a brush to paint the town’s insignia on her right palm. Again, Joan does voice her questions, simply opens her hand and keeps it steady while Tomas’ uncle marks her skin in brisk brushstrokes.

         “How are you, Mister Morley?” Joan asks.

         The man stiffens and finishes the design in a businesslike manner. “I am faring well.”

         “I am extremely pleased to hear that.” Her answer is almost automatic and she blinks in surprise. Though her reply was mere seconds ago, she cannot remember speaking the words, and that upsets her because she has finally seen for the first time how automated she has become.

         Gareth avoids her eyes as he says, “Take care, Miss Joaneveive,” and Joan is brave and does not begrudge him for the lack of conviction behind his words. Their entire exchange is done out of courtesy, and both are eager to be out of the other’s presence. Mister Morley dips his head and leaves the room before the thin coat of paint on Joaneveive’s hand even dries.

         She stands staring at herself for a few minutes longer, runs her hands through her hair and tries not to sneeze at the powder again.

         She is a doll, much like the ones Maud would steal from her when they were younger, not that Joan minded. She always enjoyed hearing stories from her father, anyway.

         With a glance at the field below and beyond her room, she steps onto her balcony and closes the door behind her.

         As much as she wishes not to, she trembles.

         She is exhausted.

         She is afraid.

         She wants to flee.

         She feels a churning in her stomach, her tongue grinding against the roof of her mouth like tree bark, and the ink has smudged just a smidgen from her sweaty palms.

         “Run away with me,” she mouths with downcast eyes. Her lips form the words again and she holds back tears because even though she still has several hours until she must be taken to the tree, she would rather not repeat the preparation process if her makeup runs.

         She grips the railing. The cold freezes her tears and lets her see through crystals that bend the grey light shrouding the manor like a bride’s veil.

(**A/N: And another update! Woohoo. I have one more prewritten one saved up :3

Haha, it was interesting reading your guys' guesses at what Boone said. I imagined him saying something like "I fell in love with you" or "I've fallen in love with you." Probably the latter. Does the contraction make it seven words? :P

What d'you guys think the "Run away with me" dealio is about? Heh heh heh.)