Page 80 of These Eternal Bones
“It would be nice to have some privacy to wash, just now and then.”
He hesitates.
The lack of sunlight is jarring, but what’s almost more so in the cage's bathroom, only a thin curtain separates the toilet from the rest. I’d taken to just banishing Elric to the steps, but my cheeks heat every time I need to use it, my pride taking a major hit. Few things make you feel more like an animal than relieving yourself in front of a God with a sensitive sense of smell and hearing. My embarrassment floods the bond, and for the hundredth time, I wish I could shut it off, at least for a little while. It is hard to stay mad at someone when, at all hours of the day, you can feel their undying devotion and love for you, as well as their guilt and pain.
“He will make it quick, or the town will be short a doctor,” he growls, gently untwisting from me to set me on my back on my painting stool.
My chest lets out a brief pang when he kisses me goodbye, but I ignore it, making another ugly swipe on the ugly canvas. It’s not a picture per se, but more of a clash of black and gray, no color.
No light.
I’m not feeling inspired by such things lately.
I make a few more passes before I let my wrist fall limp onto my long white nightdress. I hadn’t bothered changing out of it today. No real point, I suppose. The tip of the brush slips further from my fingers, dotting the fine, lacy fabric with black. I don’t know what it is about that single small dot of black that makes me slap my hand out onto my pallet, smearing the only two colors there across my palm. I rub my fingers together, testing the wet paint before my other hand joins in, smearing at the painting until it's covered entirely. No strokes, just a canvas of darkness. My eyes fall to the plunging bodice of the dress next, regarding it only for a moment before I smear my hands across it, ruining it too.
I feel oddly empty at the sight. Is this boredom?
This strange lack of effect?
It’s numbing; I can’t tell which I prefer.
I take my time marring the dress further, putting little thought into it, and when it’s done, I find my heart has finally picked up speed. My shaky legs carry me to the full-length mirror in the corner of the gilded cage. That seems to part what remains of the numbness. My knees wobble, and I stare at my own gaunt eyes, the dark bags underneath them. My hair is heavy and scratchy on my neck. I barely spare a glance at the dress. The woman is alarming enough as my fingers rub the scar on my left hand, its ridges hidden by the paint.
Joseph had once said that things such as depression and anxiety were proof of our corruption, our doubt in God's divine plan. What was there to fear when he’d curated our lives for us? When he died for our sin? What could we possibly have to fear, to be sad about? We were chosen to live in his light.
Perhaps because we wanted to be children and not wives.
Perhaps because we wanted to be free from his leering glances.
Perhaps we didn’t want to be branded like cattle.
We wanted to read.
To cut our hair.
To ask questions and speak loudly.
Perhaps if I truly am to die, I do not wish to spend my last few weeks in the dark. Even surrounded by love.
My eyes leave the frail looking, sad woman and land on my paint supplies, the scissors glinting in the bright candlelight. Tears well in my eyes as I grab them, returning to the mirror where I jerk my hair free from its thick braid, wild frizzy copper curls fraying as I unfurl them. Like everything else, there’s no ceremony in what comes next. My lips wobble as I hack at the thick length, my hand aching, arm and wrist screaming their disapproval by the time the last thick chunk falls away.
For a moment, I think my breath comes a little easier without the weight.
It’s choppy and lopsided, hanging down to just past my shoulders instead of my waist as I let my legs give out underneath me, falling into the pile of hair as it sticks to the wet paint on my dress. The tears welled in my eyes join the hair and paint as I desperately try to find the confidence I felt weeks ago, when I vowed this life would be my last. When I said I wouldn’t leave him. I had been so sure…whatever in the world for?
A small gasp fills the room. My movements are dazed, nearly sluggish, as I turn to look at the horror on Péal’s small face. Glancing down at myself, I suppose this looks quite bad, especially when I’m gripping the scissors likethat. She paces by the door, clearly unsure of what to do. “One moment, mistress, it’s okay. Come away from there.”
I frown at her, then at my hand, still clutching the scissors. Realization dawning on me that she thinks I mean to use them on myself.I almost tell her I’m not going to, that I wouldn’t do that to him, tome,but the words don’t come. I simply watch her panic as she yells for Elric.
He’s there in a blink, his eyes pitching from rage to worry as he unlocks the cage. Péal keeps pacing as if weighing what she wants to do, but the moment she decides and goes to enter the cage, an unearthly snarl leaves my mate. She doesn’t cower, but lifts her chin in defiance, stepping back but only slightly. “It’s a terrible ending to a beautiful life,” she spits.
My heart lurches, thinking he will hurt her, but he doesn’t as he turns from her, dismissing the woman with a flick of his hand, but she stays as he steps inside, her eyes finding mine.
“You’re dismissed,” he growls as he blurs to me.
“My love...” he murmurs, gathering me in his arms so tenderly that my body warms.
“Funnily enough, I have just decided I do not answer to you. I no longer wish to serve a master who lackshonor.” Her eyes spark as she levels him, as if there was power to her words. Elric barely reacts. “Mistress, do you wish for me to stay?”
