Amidst Crimson Kisses

Chapter Eight: The Paradox of a Confidant

Margo's POV

While the sunlight pales in the crevices of Rosewood, I stand at the peak of a room that parallels to the brushstrokes of da Vinci. I'm not alone as I marvel at a sculpture crafted out of clay and stone with a story about two star crossed lovers, entangling in each other's embrace. I steal a glimpse under the ceiling as a mural composes with a banquet of angels existing in an eon of bliss. A dozen marbled columns take over the walls as medieval chamber doors glisten underneath a roof of translucent glass. I search for Gwendolyn while she stands at the edge of the ballroom with composure in her emerald eyes.

I can't seem to differentiate between the dread settling in the pit of my stomach and the grief that rushed in Gabriella's tone as she pardoned me from the sins of my father. I trace the stormy tiles on the floor as Gwendolyn cultivates into an acrobat of symmetry, landing in front of me in a firm pose. Gwendolyn pirouettes around me in a vision of comeliness as deja vu scours my mind for the moment Juliet stole the stage. I recall when Juliet danced, she was adjacent to her mother even when she harbored fierce emotions like her father. Suddenly, Gwendolyn's leg elevates in midair, luring my heart into a paradox as I crave the imperfections of each move and the absence of total perfection.

"When you dance, endure it like you bear the pain of your soul. The pain of becoming a stranger to someone you adore, and the misery of having someone you love stolen from you," Gwendolyn says. "Since you'll never feel that pain think of the second, your mother closed her eyes as her soul fled her body. Then gird your loins with your deepest sorrow and dance."

"I don't know how I feel," I stammer, my gaze falling to the floor as her words sink into my heart. "How am I supposed to use my pain when I couldn't even remember I watched my mother die? She gave birth to me, and now she's just another stranger."

I discern the heartless nature in Gwendolyn's contour while she faces me as her words burrow in my spirit and whisper in the crevices of my mind. Gwendolyn's indifference bothers me as she speaks on an agony no doubt etched in the golden gleam of this ballroom. Juliet Gianna Goulding. I listen as silence echoes through the walls while the memory of Juliet reiterates in each space of this room. There Juliet is spinning on tip of her toes while her left foot touched the back of her knee. Juliet's hands raised above her head as a hearty laugh escaped her lips.

She muttered, "If I'm Cinderella then your my wicked stepsister." I smiled as I dashed across the room and tackled her to the ground screaming how she was far to ugly to go to the ball. I remember I hadn't laughed so hard since before my mother died. Then Juliet turned to me and said, "You'll always be my beautiful sister, and I'm going to dress you up tomorrow so your mother can see from heaven too."

Gwendolyn looks into my eyes, foraging the depths of my soul for emotion as details in my memory disappear in a shroud of desolation. "How can I remember my mother when there's no one left to help me envision her and her sweet laughter?"

"If I were you, I'd fight for the pleasure to recall my mother's benevolence," Gwendolyn says, grabbing her purse as she starts to retreat out the room. "People worth fighting for are always the most memorable and the ones you love to remember."

"Where are you going?" I ask, following behind her.

"Leaving you to get better acquainted with the Margo Kennedy I used to know," Gwendolyn smiles, about to disappear in the corridor as she speaks, "the one who shudders at the thought of me telling her she never had someone she loved stolen from her. The girl who blatantly spoke her mind except when she held her secrets in her eyes and danced."