I wake up exactly three days later. How do I know that? Beds aren’t supposed to speak, after all. I did not find myself in my bed when I opened my eyes, I was standing before God's image in the Cathedral hall, a basket of sweet smelling roses hanging on my arm. I look around, eyes narrowed and mind reeling with the messed up continuations of real life and dream. Bitter poison drips down my tongue when I see Sir Adam standing at the far end of the pew, eyes strictly fixed on me.
“Tara?” A hand taps my shoulder. “Is it you, really?”
I turn around, too bothered to be surprised at this point. A finely dressed woman with large blue eyes and rogue painted lips beams at me. Her head looms over me by an inch or two, and her embroidered red and gold gown eclipses my tasteless clothing. “Yes, it is I, Tara Somerhaden,” I say and hope she notices the dark eyebags beneath my eyes. “And who would you be?”
“Goodness, it really is you!” She puts her gloved hand over her mouth and hides her beautiful smile, but the overjoyed expression in her eyes gives away how euphoric she is. That aside, who is she? I scrunch my nose and try to pull away my arm. “I heard you were sick, and I even sent countless letters to you! Why didn’t you reply?”
I frown. “You did?”
In the distance, the temple bells ring. I count the ten bronze melodies, and her smile slowly falters. “Tara,” she grabs my arm, “Tara, what happened?”
That sharp sound knocks me off my feet and shunt forward, but her strong fingers catch and steady me. My heart hurts, jaw locked in place, tongue heavy, cold air brushing the roof of my palate each time I suck in a breath. “Lady Daphne,” I rasp, “nothing… big, please…”
“Tara! You are scaring me!” She shakes me like a ragdoll. “Wake up, please!”
A cool breeze pushes me away from her and sets me back to my feet. What just happened? “Lady er… Daphne,” I clear my throat, “it is such a pleasure meeting you! But do not worry about this behaviour I showed. As it may appear, yes, I am a little sick. Physically, well yes, the doctor said so but I personally suspect my illness is largely mental.”
Strangely enough, Daphne chuckles. “What behavior? And why are you talking to me so formally? I thought we were best friends!”
Her question slithers across my conscience. “A moment ago, I collapsed on you.”
“No you did not,” she says.
My lip trembles and eyes water. “I did. You caught me.”
“Tara,” she pushes away a tear hanging on my lashes with her gloved thumb, “why did you not reply to my letters? I thought we were best friends.”
Why are you lying? I don’t even know you, I have met you for the first time for God’s sake! I stagger away from her. No, it’s not just you… everyone is lying… Am I insane, or is everyone else… no, that can’t be. I am the exception, not the rule. I whip my head around, and the constricting feeling encloses on me, smoky tendrils pressing their fingertips around my throat and bleeding a mess of salty tears from my eyes. If the devil has a heartbeat, it is this sound.
“Blessings of the sun,” the priest in golden robes places his hand on my head, “Lady Somerhaden.” He wears the golden and white hardspun cotton, a trademark of the Luminos house. Head full of hair and puckered lips, suspiciously young to hold the position of the High Priest.
Again. Twice a day, first for the duration of three hours and now for fifteen minutes. My time slips have no coherent pattern. Not only do I lose sense of my surroundings and hear strange sounds but also think and act differently. I bow my head down to his ice cold touch and hand him the basket of flowers. It feels heavier in my hand and jingles, beneath the blanket of roses lies a pool of silver— hah, so this is where my money goes…
“My Lady?” The priest looks up in surprise and tugs the basket. “Your offerings?”
Why should I live miserly and give you this? Just so that your Cathedral will get richer and richer? Golden domes and marble floors, while I rot away in muddy cottons and straw slippers— “Thank you for your hard work!” I beam at him like a beacon of hopeless sunshine and romantic poetry. My fingers curl around the basket handle tighter as the priest’s knowing grin grows wider. Yes, you are a man of God. Please understand that this isn’t a goodwill charity, this money is tainted by my greed, don’t take it. He tilts his head to a side, perpetually narrowed eyes judging my conscience. “High Priest,” I grit my teeth, “please, have this. Use it for the betterment of society.”
“Tara!” Daphne squeals and jumps on my shoulders. “How generous are you! I could never give away all this. High Priest, make sure her wish comes true!” I double over from the impact and grab the bannister, completely letting go of the baket. The Priest’s smile widens when he shakes the bamboo basket and places it near the stairs of the idol. Utterly pleased with himself and his earnings.
“As you say, Lady Wurtz. What is your wish?”
I want a maroon coloured sapphire necklace. “Whatever you want,” I say, smiling at Daphne Wurtz. What is happening? Why am I being so charitable?
“Really?” Daphne presses both my hands in her runny, warm fists and turns to the priest. “I just have one wish!” She squeals. “I wish to be Tara’s sister-in-law.”
What the... “As you say,” I nod, “I just want you to be happy.” NO! I don’t even know you!
“I’ll put an offering to the altar in your name. I wish the Lord hears to you,” High Priest says. “And your marriage with the Duke Regent would be successful.”
“Yes!” Daphne’s screech turns high pitched just as the bitter taste in my mouth returns. “I and Lord Tayash will look so great together.”
I step away from that godforsaken demonic being dripping with raw beauty and grace. The hairs on the back of my neck stand still. “Daphne,” I say, “you wish to marry my brother?”
“Yes,” she pouts as if it is a known fact, “I am destined to.”
“This is crazy…” I weave my fingers in my hair and pull, hoping my fingertips would press some sense in my brain. Stars would dance in my eyes but Daphne doesn't let them, she hooks her hand around mine and tugs me forward.
"And how are things going with your cutie Adam?"
"Lady Somerhaden?" The Priest calls me from behind. It's the same voice. Slithery, slippery, a voice with glistening scales that crawled beneath my feet and hooked me intrigued that day… the start of it all.
"Yes?" I stammer, but do not turn around.
"Do you perhaps, want these coins back?"
I can feel his chilling gaze travel from the back of my head to my waist, I can picture a smile sitting on his lips as he scratches the tip of his chin with an index finger. He jingles that basket purposefully, but his intent doesn't seem to be that of a teasing temple priest. It's him. He is the one behind my madness, I can pinpoint his fork-tongued voice even in a haunted daydream.
"Oh well," he resigns away quietly, "you won't remember this in the next scene anyway."
Something inside of me snaps.
"Next scene?" I pry Daphne's fingers off my arm and turn around. There's a woman who met me less than ten minutes ago, I have been inside the Cathedral for fifteen minutes and this man dares to break my glass fragile mind with a single word. A scene. An act. A play. "Your words make no sense, High Priest."
"I know. Your existence doesn’t either." He shrugs. "Ah fuck," he hooks a finger under the golden collar sitting in his neck and tugs it, lips twisted in pure contempt and disregard. As if he fears no God, as if he cares not for the decorum of the idol he is standing before. "This shit's tiring. Anyhow, you should leave. Your guard is waiting for you outside —"
That sound cuts him off.
I am outside. Adam waits at the reception, his hand stretched out to help me up in the carriage. Daphne is already inside, a book lays open on her lap and she chucks pistachios in her mouth, one at a time. “Adam?” I whisper. “Who is she?”
“My Lady, she is your childhood friend… Lady Wurtz. Did you forget that too?”
My eyes flare to his face. “You are my guard, Adam,” I say, not caring for honorifics, “do you remember what I told you on the day of my birthday?”
His hunched brows, half parted lips and vague look tell me he doesn’t remember.
“Yes,” I say, “tell me you forgot that.”
“Tara!” Daphne waves her hand. “Come and sit. We need to hurry back.”
I step backwards and retrace my steps to the Cathedral, heart in my mouth and a hurricane of dread weighing on my mind. You won't remember this in the next scene anyway. He knows. That Priest knows something, and it is the very root of my illness.
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