A Tale Of Shadows (Wattys 2023) - REPLACED BY DIVINE ASCENSION

Chapter 14 - A Discarded Woman

The morning after Melinda had returned from the Eadean royal palace, she slowly woke up with sunbeams adorning her bedroom, moaning happily. While she was ceasing to see nothing other than utter, voracious darkness, she remembered the events from the last day. It was the best day she had lived through in quite some time. The realization of her scheme had begun at once, and it had begun more easily than she had expected. Although the other woman George mentioned could present a problem, that potential obstacle was relatively infinitesimal compared to her success. Tranquillity flowed through her veins like a river as she stood up, commencing to dress.

It was slightly complicated for her to walk over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room in her half-asleep state, but she managed to do so in a matter of seconds. In the time during which her whole body felt numb, she stroked the closet with her right hand, sensing its stiffness. It was a wide and tall one, dark brown in colour, and, judging from the time she took to smell its scent in the air, it was made out of pine. As it had two handles, she shook the one on the right first, and then the one on the left without hesitation. Her smile broadened once she saw how many dresses were there. They must have washed a number of them while I was away, she thought.

There were dresses of all kinds, only two of them white - the one she had had before and her wedding dress. There was also the dress that she always wore on funerals, a purple dress accompanied by a green overcoat, a long red dress with transparent sleeves that had little rubies all over them, and she would have studied all of them if she hadn't noticed one that she hadn't seen before, which she grabbed immediately.

It was a light shade of pink, and, as soon as she unfolded it, she saw that it had long sleeves and that it would reach her heels if she put it on. It was obviously made of cotton, and her tired hands were the perfect witnesses for that. Its aroma was that of a pink rose, so innocent, yet so alluring, enchanting her furthermore. She suspected who its creator could be, and when she opened the envelope near the dress and read the words from the paper inside it, all became clear. On it were written these words:

"In all the years to come, especially the eternity that you will live through, I doubt I could find a way to properly express my love for you, but I present you something I thought you would admire. I apologize for not being able to find a better material to sew the dress with, and I could not fully form an idea of what to give to a wealthy woman with a character such as yours, which I have only recently begun to explore, but I believe that it is the intent that matters, although I have no real reason to give you a present. I hope I did a good enough job.

Yours truly,

Malcolm."

She knew that those were his words, for not another acquaintance of hers' words bore such gentle admiration, nor such attention to detail, nor such ridiculous amounts of concern that always warmed her heart a little. She also memorized what his handwriting looked like - his letters were stiff and small, yet beautifully written and arranged, a perfect representation of character. That tiny bit of him contained all that she loved about him, and she felt the need to talk to him in person in an instant. Soon, she grasped that she had to do so out of urgency.

"Especially the eternity that you will live through?" How could have I missed that?

If he had found out that she became an immortal, her love could not save either of them from the probable consequences. Perhaps she had started to love too much, even though the hatred within her heart that would not wither left her at unrest. Those theories were completely reasonable to her, as her heart had already failed her numerous times, not notifying her about all the people she could never trust. She could not afford to be viewed as a lovestruck fool by one person, let alone more. She had carved it into her brain on so many occasions that her veins would boil every time, tired of living in fear.