I haven't re-read it yet, so if you spot any mistakes let me know!
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Thank you all so much for reading! xoxo
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Natalia had left, and the cabin was painfully bare without her cynical vivacity. As vagrants do, she had departed without a word of goodbye, save for a chipped china dish of berries and a painting of Cerise that must have taken a whole night. She adorned her white dress, lips as blue as her eyes with the berries she had raised to her parted mouth, her eyebrows slightly raised with the action. Natalia had titled it, as she did with all of her works, at the bottom right corner above her messy signature. “Mija”, she had christened it: in English, my daughter. The silent understanding of her farewell gave Cerise enough closure to not be bitter; and the tears she shed were nothing more than mourning the absence of Natalia, who she knew would return come autumn-time.
She looked at the painting now, which had been hung in her room two months ago, and wrote her last letter of the day.
In these eight months, my heart has ached more viciously than I knew that it could; but I never miss the days that I didn’t know I had one.
Today is the day.
She sighed and folded the letter twice, tossing it into her third cigar box. A void worth eight months was folded neatly into several cigar and hatboxes; the thin-papered poems slowly decaying though their meanings never would. A stack of sketches bleeding the fading colors of ache and melancholia lay dotingly in a drawer; all an unpleasant reminder for each month that she was without Harry.
But the optimistic sun gave Cerise confirmation that the day was bright and full of promise; pregnant in potential and bare in good intentions.
She had plaited her hair as it best suited her and bathed with a lavender poultice to secure the scent her skin had already claimed. She wore pink culottes, alabaster Oxford shoes and a cotton button-up shirt to match. She was going with friends but returning alone.
Amber, who was surprisingly good-humored about last year’s incident, was among the friends whom Cerise attended the concert with. They had all snagged front-row tickets, though Cerise was the only one with a backstage pass — but that was her secret (though in clandestine, Amber suspected it).
The fans were audacious, loud and sweaty, Cerise had found — but unbelievably dedicated and wholeheartedly smitten. She was as excited as they were, but was still too reserved to shriek when the boys entered the stage: instead, she stood stock-still, hands clasped and lips a half-inch apart. He entered singing, noticeably more thrilled than his band mates. He kept scanning the front row when he wasn’t singing — which was rare.
The sight of him caused Cerise to tremble; a warm tremor resembling her thought of “finally” rolling through her body. He looked otherworldly as he belted his heart out, his wayward curls framing his face boyishly. His physique was decidedly older; his jaw a little wider and the curves of his face slightly more sharp. His muscles were decadently taut under his skin, which had darkened— though not considerably. His fingers were still as slender, though, and his hands as tremendous as before. She laughed to see him so free and vibrant, though purple shadows were lightened by cosmetics under his eyes.
