Whispered Kiss

A Connection Begins

The torment of the sores on my hands raged on and so did my incessant scratching. The antiquated lace gloves I adorned were more a curse than a blessing. I wanted to peel them from my fingers and stomp them into the muddy ground. Instead, I raised my head to the heavens, leaned against the whitewashed porch column, and transfixed my gaze on the rain.

The tranquillity and freedom each droplet held, never ceased to amaze me. Each tear-like drop fell from the heavens without fear and as each drop kissed the earth, its purpose held meaning. That one single droplet knew, once absorbed by the earth, it would forever contribute to the wellness of the ground. Unlike me. I had nothing but sickness to contribute. I coughed without covering my lips, least the blood spewing from my mouth stained the expensive lace. Instead, I spat the blood over the porch steps, dabbing my lips with an embroidered napkin and watched as the ruby blood mixed with the mud until it became a dark, oily colour.

I was but fourteen and yet womanhood came early for me. My mother worried about the repercussions should I not find a husband. However, I did not. Today, we were meeting a potential suitor. One who no doubt would disgrace me and reject my offer, but my mother remained hopeful. She believed if we could find the right, almost stupefied male, he would overlook the matter of my poisonous body and grave future.

I shook my head and tugged at the gloves. How could she be so foolish? How could she expect me to live my life with a dullard and pray for salvation? I wanted love. I wanted the fireflies in one's stomach my elder sister spoke fondly of during their visits but love had no place with one such as me. Nor did the world have a place for me. Apart from potential suitors, I knew little of the outside world or the magic it held. My world was protected and monitored. No one could speak out of turn around me, including suitors. Mother claimed news could upset my fragile state. As a child, she searched the four corners of Damania for aid, but no magic or person could help with a cure.

I sighed. What did it matter? I would surely not live long anymore. I would rather shift my attention to the magnificent rain, drumming louder. Mother though spoiled my moment, rushing from the front door, her skirts crumbled in her hands, and a few strays of her sun kissed hair, amiss.

"You father says we cannot ride in this weather. We have postponed the meeting for on the morrow." She said, frazzled. No doubt she had scurried to ensure everything was in place. She touched my arm, disappointment written across her face. I could see how desperately she wanted me to be excited over a potential marriage agreement. How she longed for the giddiness my elder sisters showed when they planned meetings and intended parties. Though I did not share their excitement, she still acted as if I did.

"We cannot risk your health, my daughter. Come inside."

I turned to her, pouting. "One more minute, please, mother?"

My mother's nose wrinkled, as it always did when I defied the walls she built around my precarious health. "Very well."

I gave her an inclination of my head, calm, and unwavering, but inside I rejoiced. A minute away from the desolation of my room was years of peace and freedom. Something I clung to. I inhaled the scent of wet earth and ripped the delicate gloves from my fingers, tossing them on the porch. My hands, albeit blotched with red sores, lessened in their itching and I slumped against the banister with relief.

Just beyond our land, laid the grasslands. They held my playground as a child and my dreams as a woman. Soon they would turn to a luscious green. Flowers will sprout from their long stems and I would sneak out and explore their secrets. I longed for the rainy season to seize. How I loved the rain yet hated it. For I was always prohibited from engrossing myself in it. Mother worried I would die of cold if I did.