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I. The dream
The morning sun is just coming over the horizon and begins to spill over the windowsill, casting an amber sliver of warmth over my cheek. Consciousness is slowly returning as I open one eye and then the other. With heavy eyelids, I blink the fog away and try to focus my sights on the mundane objects scattered about the space. A blur of white slowly takes shape as a porcelain wash basin. My sight sharpens on this beautiful object, embellished with gold and green branches, and I can’t help but think on the clean, smooth surface glimmering with reflections of all it can see. The curved surface shines with what small portion of the room is visible in the early morning light. A large, rich mahogany armoire stands tall and looming on one edge. And then myself, mostly a mound of blankets and long hair spills over the other.
I’ve always loved my long, strawberry blonde hair. To think, my own bit of golden sunshine must now be hidden away each day, my maiden status officially gone. In this moment, I wish only to hug my pillow tighter, closer. I need the warmth and comfort, to feel like someone’s arms are around me on a morning like this. I can’t clearly recall the previous night and I’m realizing this morning haze is not entirely lifting. Visions begin to resurface, but I can scarcely tell what is real and what is not.
Aggression, fear, surprise, forcefulness. I feel myself completely enveloped by a darkness. I see a face. Wait, two faces. They morph from one to the other. But there is something more there. One face looks very familiar. As his receding hair line and round, plump nose come into clarity, the lines and wrinkles on his face and that sneering smile shift into focus and I know it. The face comes into view as a demon coming for my soul. I can nearly smell the sweat and whisky emanating from his overly porous skin. I want to turn away but I cannot. He is holding me here. I am half pinned by his weight and half by my own anxiety.
My breathing quickens and the room spins about me. The demon laughs, but doesn’t remain. As if being overtaken, his visage is dissipated by that of another. The amorphous blackness condenses and expands like a black cloud until I find myself staring back into dark eyes. Like staring into the mass of leaves atop a great oak in the middle of the night, shades of deep greens contrasted with golden specks of moonlit earth. I knew not this man, but found only relief in his presence.
I blink my way back into reality once more. The sun has long been risen in the sky, settling into it’s daily chores of igniting the lives of the town and I, too, must take my new post among the congregation as the magistrate’s wife. I peel myself up and walk over to the basin to rinse my face and seek a momentary reprieve from the cold water. The white bowl gleams like the white in the eyes belonging to my midnight visitor. But my day dream is clipped by the image in the bowl. Where I hoped to start my morning clean and refreshed to start my new life, I was instead struck with a harsh reminder of the previous night and loss of my maidenhood. Bits of garment and rags were lumped sadly, striking up over the surface of the shallow water. The water was now pink with swirls of crimson, remnants from that evening and who I was.
The morning sun is just coming over the horizon and begins to spill over the windowsill, casting an amber sliver of warmth over my cheek. Consciousness is slowly returning as I open one eye and then the other. With heavy eyelids, I blink the fog away and try to focus my sights on the mundane objects scattered about the space. A blur of white slowly takes shape as a porcelain wash basin. My sight sharpens on this beautiful object, embellished with gold and green branches, and I can’t help but think on the clean, smooth surface glimmering with reflections of all it can see. The curved surface shines with what small portion of the room is visible in the early morning light. A large, rich mahogany armoire stands tall and looming on one edge. And then myself, mostly a mound of blankets and long hair spills over the other.
I’ve always loved my long, strawberry blonde hair. To think, my own bit of golden sunshine must now be hidden away each day, my maiden status officially gone. In this moment, I wish only to hug my pillow tighter, closer. I need the warmth and comfort, to feel like someone’s arms are around me on a morning like this. I can’t clearly recall the previous night and I’m realizing this morning haze is not entirely lifting. Visions begin to resurface, but I can scarcely tell what is real and what is not.
Aggression, fear, surprise, forcefulness. I feel myself completely enveloped by a darkness. I see a face. Wait, two faces. They morph from one to the other. But there is something more there. One face looks very familiar. As his receding hair line and round, plump nose come into clarity, the lines and wrinkles on his face and that sneering smile shift into focus and I know it. The face comes into view as a demon coming for my soul. I can nearly smell the sweat and whisky emanating from his overly porous skin. I want to turn away but I cannot. He is holding me here. I am half pinned by his weight and half by my own anxiety.
My breathing quickens and the room spins about me. The demon laughs, but doesn’t remain. As if being overtaken, his visage is dissipated by that of another. The amorphous blackness condenses and expands like a black cloud until I find myself staring back into dark eyes. Like staring into the mass of leaves atop a great oak in the middle of the night, shades of deep greens contrasted with golden specks of moonlit earth. I knew not this man, but found only relief in his presence.
I blink my way back into reality once more. The sun has long been risen in the sky, settling into it’s daily chores of igniting the lives of the town and I, too, must take my new post among the congregation as the magistrate’s wife. I peel myself up and walk over to the basin to rinse my face and seek a momentary reprieve from the cold water. The white bowl gleams like the white in the eyes belonging to my midnight visitor. But my day dream is clipped by the image in the bowl. Where I hoped to start my morning clean and refreshed to start my new life, I was instead struck with a harsh reminder of the previous night and loss of my maidenhood. Bits of garment and rags were lumped sadly, striking up over the surface of the shallow water. The water was now pink with swirls of crimson, remnants from that evening and who I was.
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