Forbidden // h.s

Forbidden (Coming Soon!)

Prologue

 

 

 

 

Louisiana; December 1837

The dim silver moonlight casted an eery violet glow across the cold, winter field, causing it to reflect a path for my running figure.  A light dusting of a winter's snow blanketed the ploughed dirt in a fine, white powder. Suddenly, the distant whiney of a horse pierces the air like a dart, causing my feet to pick up from a careful tip-toe to a slow, yet urgent jog. The anxiety continues to build up in my lower abdomen, my heart racing to the speed of light. I had to get to him. Before they do.

The soft, yet deafening, thunder of horses hooves pounding the earth relentlessly slowly increases in volume as they get closer and closer. I was now sprinting full speed, truly not caring about the brown dirt stains and thorn tears that were ruining my pink, satin nightgown with every other step. The cold, snow-covered dirt seeped between my toes with every quick step I took. The log cabins where my forbidden lover was sleeping slowly ascended into the dim horizon. The trees created a frame for the moon and stars above me, mirroring the trail I was currently sprinting down. I could perfectly picture him, laying in his iron bed as steady intakes of breath rose his muscular chest up and down. He rosy lips were probably slightly parted, his eyelashes fluttering involuntarily. The worn sheets definitely do not do their job at keeping him warm in these freezing conditions.  I find myself wanting to scream, waking him out of his slumber, needing to inform him of the upcoming danger more than I needed my next staggering breath of oxygen, but I had to control myself for his safety. If anyone knew I was trying to assist him, it would only make things worse on his part. The sharp, steady sounds of my breathing saturated the air. It felt like with every solitary step I took, I was only getting further and further from him. My burning lungs gasp for pure air in the silence of my surroundings.

My frozen, bare feet slap the frigid, packed soil as I entered the wing of where the slaves were located. All of the windows were dark, not a single candle or lantern flickering. I dash past all of the small residents and households before arriving at number nineteen. I bundled up my long skirt in my small fists, running towards his small cabin and onto his front steps. My small fist collides over and over again with the wooden door, whispering his name, not wanting to take a chance of waking up anyone else.

"Please, wake up!", I whisper as loud as I dared. My voice sounded fragile and weak, partly from running and partly from the anxiety and dread that was tearing my insides to shreds. I restrain myself from jumping into his arms as  he opens the door, fearful that this could be our last encounter. It would only make things worse if someone caught us in that state. My last time experiencing his tethered, brown curls that mopped across the tanned skin of his forehead, darkened from weeks of back-breaking work in the fields of Caveát. His long, brown eyelashes framed his fatigued, green irises that held a great amount of fear and concern. He doesn't give me a chance to speak as he steps into the doorway, checking both ways for people watching as he quickly ushers me into his dwelling. He quietly closes the door before rotating to face me, his eyebrows knit in concern.

"What's the matter?", he inquires as he slowly sits down on the edge of his bed. It squeaks slightly under his weight, but he keeps his eyes focused on me. I don't give my mind a second chance to think as I rush forward, grasping his callused, yet gentle hand, and pulling him back onto his feet. I have to remind myself that he doesn't know of the arising danger that was riding closer with every second that passed.