Promises Unkept

Blessed and Damned

The sky had an overcast of grey cloud that crowded it like lumps of substandard mattress filling. Here and there. Vaguely. Hazily.

Naturally.

The wind blew hard and all the trees far off had their leaves turned upside down, giving them a glistening light. The horizon was brighter on the right side and darker on the left. It would rain on the right side, it was raining on the left.

The balcony into which Eden stood gave her a panoramic view of the vast Ashleytonian estate, in this chaos of nature. The faraway trees were swaying.

The sloppy moors were swaying. Marshes, swaying.

Her skirt was fluttering.

And she stood upright. Like a warrior among the fallen. Perpetual among the bents.

She dared another sip from her champagne. It was almost gone, the drink. Almost over. A content sigh escaped her lips as she watched waves forming in the backyard lake. Ripples of grey silken liquid shivered up in the eastern wind.

And then, she realized she was not alone, that she was being watched. Studied. She looked over her shoulder. Mr. Edwin stood there, at the doorframe, a glass of champagne in his one hand and the other, resting in his pant pocket. She turned around, smile-lessly.

He was like an artifact. Lean. Tall. Wonderful.

Like a Relic. Historical. With experiences of past and foreknowledge of future.

She took in a deep, rainy breath. The air smelt of crushed, wet leaf and rain on soil. A thunder crackled somewhere behind her and she saw the blaze in his silver eyes. And then, they dipped once, his eyes, grazing over her whole body. Taking in her appearance.

“You are unlike yourself tonight.” He commented, cautiously stepping closer to her.

A careless smile arched her lips. “And what am I like?”

He stepped more near, and stopped right at the edge of where decorum and propriety ended. For a strange man and a stranger woman.

“I don’t know.” He whispered, solemnly. “Just not like the Eden I came to know. What is it?”

“I am not as sensational as you make me appear.” She stated calmly. “I never was.”

He extended the glass of the golden spirit to her. She watched it waywardly. And dared looking up at his eyes. They were glittering. In sincerity….in regardence.

She touched the offered flute and wrapped her fingers around it. Reaching out with other hand, he took away the empty glass from her other hand and placed it on the stone railing beside her.

“Would you shun me Sir?” She tilted her head. “For being so odd.”

It was extraordinary how the wind assaulted a violent breeze on her just then. How, just then, a wild ribbon of her hair escaped her braids and just then how, he stepped nearer to hold it and tuck it away behind her ears….and there, his fingers lingered.

“I don’t know.” His breathe caressed her lips as words flew out of him. “Should I?”

And it was an invaluable question. Should I?

Should he?

As if she could chose it on his behalf. To be damned or to be blessed.

But then, they all did that. They all shunned her, once they realized who she was. Or rather what she was.

A pale smudge on the society.

“You should play cautious.” She warned.

“It is no game that I am playing.”