Roses

The sound of candle wax dripping lulled me to sleep. Clutching the crisp letter between my fingers, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. Even breathing hurt now.

*     *     *

The dirt road was bumpy under the carriage’s wooden wheels. The anticipation was nerve-wracking and Juliet seemed almost as anxious as me. She hid her hands’ uncontrollable shaking, but not even the darkness of the carriage could hide the look on her face.

As we approached the castle, I looked down to the creamy envelope containing my formal invitation to the Ball. I stared at it for a few seconds, heart racing.

Snapping back to reality, I stepped out of the carriage, Juliet right behind me. The castle looked ethereal in the dark autumn night. Light shone out of every window and an orchestra was playing music. Dancing, walking, talking, hundreds of guests swarmed around the castle’s entrance. It was standing on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. To my left, a cliff dived straight into the ocean, a never ending stretch of black. A steep slope led to the cliff’s bottom, where a sandy beach sprinkled with rocks provided shelter from the strong salty ocean wind.

Someone grabbed my hand, making me jump. It was Juliet, of course, chewing her lip nervously. I smiled at her and hid our interlocked hands in the folds of my dress. It tied a knot in the pit of my stomach, as usual, but I was too used to hiding our relationship from the public eye, it was automatic. I avoided Juliet’s eye and gently tugged her towards the castle doors. Her creamy pink gown seemed to glow in contrast to the dark grass. The colorful lights lit up the flowers on her dress and made her freckled face radiate. Her hair was braided in a crown around her head, roses and vines intertwined with the strands of orange hair. I realized that I forgot to tell her she looked beautiful. I guiltily looked away again.

I dropped her hand when we walked through the castle doors, very aware that all looks would be on us. The swarm of guests, all wearing more magnificent gowns than one another, separated us instantly. I vaguely heard a uniform-wearing herald announce my name – “Miss Ella Cynder!” – as I frantically looked around. It was a crowd of gleaming dresses, intricate updos, beaming faces, loud happy voices. But none of them belonged to Juliet – or anyone I knew.

I spent the next hour or so being accosted by well-danced strangers, exchanging small talk, dancing with insistent men in tailored suits. Bubbly champagne, waltz music, expensive gowns – this world was so different from mine. It was surreal.

As the clock’s hour hand hanging above the ballroom approached midnight, I heard more and more whispers. “It’s her, isn’it?” “What’s her name… Juliet?” “Yes, the girl.” “Is it true?”

Paranoid, I continued my search for Juliet. She was nowhere to be seen. My head was pounding and I couldn’t stop thinking about Juliet and the rumors.

Finally, the clock struck midnight. The music stopped, and everyone froze. From the top of the magnificent golden stairs, I looked over the ballroom. There, out the double doors, ran an orange-haired girl with a floral dress.

I ran down the stairs, elbowing people, making my way to the castle’s doors.

A gust of wind struck me as soon as I stepped out. Once my eyes got used to the dim moonlight, I could distinguish the outline of the cliff’s edge. Then, suddenly, I saw it. A high-heeled shoe, with gold roses and vines climbing around its heel, was laying on the steep slope leading to the beach. It was Juliet’s.

Without thinking, I lifted the bottom of my dress, took off my shoes, ran to the edge and started down the slope. Panting, I picked up the shoe and continued to the beach.

I had a sudden flashback to this same beach in summer. Hot sun, cool water. Pale roses in scarlett blood. Orange hair in azure water. “It looks like she’s swimming”, I had said. My mother had looked at me sadly.

Frantically searching among the rocks, I finally saw a torn sleeve. Flowing in the wind, transparent white with roses sewn on it. Juliet’s mother had spent hours sewing it, I remembered.

Except.

She sewed it for Juliet’s bridesmaid dress, a year ago.

I frowned, trying to remember. Had Juliet decided to wear the same dress? She hadn’t told me anything. I actually hadn’t talked to her in a while…

My head hurt and my heart ached. Why couldn’t I remember?

The filthy dress was hooked onto a rock, part of the tulle skirt torn, embroidered flowers laying among the rocks. The second shoe was covered in mud and algae.

The embroidered roses. Yes, I remembered now. In her Tailoring Store, Juliet’s mother had been sewing. She looked up when I came in. The emotion in her eyes was raw, animal rage. Before I could even blink she was shoving me against the wall, measuring tape piercing into the soft skin of my throat. “You will be the death of her. You need to leave now. You need to leave her alone!” My pulse was racing, and no amount of oxygen would be enough to make the feeling disappear.

I started to stir, the cloud of drowsiness slowly lifting. My fingers twitched, and I felt the soft paper against my fingers.

Another flashback. I was sitting at the kitchen table, a candle in front of me. I was writing a letter to my girlfriend, Juliet. I sealed the creamy envelope with hot wax and a rose-shaped stamp. But I never sent it.

*     *     *

I opened my eyes. My cheeks were wet and I was trembling. In the dim moonlight I could distinguish the words scribbled on the paper: “I’m sorry, Juliet. Our love is stronger than anything they can do to us. With you by my side, I am ready to face the world.”

1000 words

Castille VM.

Nov 2023