Chapter Twenty #2
Rosamund’s bright eyes flashed as she turned on her friend.
“You have no idea what I have become,” she growled.
Suddenly, she yanked off the veil across her face, revealing a collapsed, flat nose and lips that were twisted with old scars and new sores.
She ripped off the covers on her hands, showing that four of her ten fingers had been lost and stubbed by disease.
Her flesh was gnarled and black, and she thrust her hands in Elreda’s face.
“This is what I have become! A monster, a creature who hides in darkness, a twisted relic who lost the only love she knew long ago because he could not bear to touch this gnarled flesh! Have I become cold and unfeeling? It is very possible considering that, for the last fifteen years, that is all I have known. How dare you come in here and accuse me of being cold and unfeeling, Elreda de Lohr! You live in your beautiful home with a husband who is still attracted to you while I live in the dank depths of a hellish existence. You have no right to judge me!”
Elreda was appalled at what she was seeing; her gorgeous friend was now decayed with a horrible disease that had robbed her of her physical beauty.
Tears sprang to her eyes as Rosamund pushed stubby, black fingers into her face, but to her credit, Elreda didn’t back away.
She remained in place as Rosamund raged, her heart breaking for the truth behind Rosamund’s years of absence.
Now, some things were becoming clear but others were not.
Her features were wrought with distress as she spoke.
“My friend,” she murmured. “My dear and true friend. Now I understand why you have been captive in your own home. There is nothing I can say that will heal the scars left by this disease, for you have every right to show your agony. But I will say this – has this disease also robbed you of your good heart? You used to have one. You were so very kind and gentle, but it would seem now your heart is as twisted as your body. How could you become so cold and gnarled? How could you forget about love and blame your daughter because she has experienced it? That is not the Rosamund de Lara I grew to know and love. It is as if your very soul has left you!”
Rosamond sat back on her bed as if she had been struck, as if suddenly realizing she had just exposed her secret to the world.
To her beautiful friend. Quickly, she lowered her head, struggling to put her veil over her face with fingers that didn’t work correctly any longer.
She pulled the sleeves of her robe over her hands, covering them, hiding them from Elreda, her embarrassment and horror filling the room like a cold, gray fog.
Even Elreda could feel it, breathing it in, as Rosamund shrank away from her.
“You may go now, Elreda,” she said, her voice sounding strangely weak after her outburst. “It was good to see you again. I pray your good health continues.”
Just like that, Rosamund was shutting her off.
No more conversation, conjecture, or the exhibition of pain.
A simple shut-down of everything. Elreda stood over her friend as the woman tried desperately to cover herself, her heart breaking for the lovely woman that once was.
In spite of everything, she didn’t hate her.
She didn’t even dislike her. She felt a good deal of compassion and love for her old friend, now a mere shell of herself.
Impulsively, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around the woman, squeezing tightly.
“And I pray you find your heart again,” she whispered, kissing Rosamund on the top of her wimpled head.
“No matter what was spoken here today, you are still my friend and I still love you. I pray that you find peace, Rosamund. I pray that you know happiness again. I will pray for many things for you, but most of all, I will pray that you reconsider your stance against your daughter’s happiness.
Remember what it was like to be in love with a man, Rosamund. Surely you cannot forget such a thing.”
At the first touch of the embrace, Rosamond stiffened and tried to pull away.
It had been fifteen years since anyone had touched her.
But the moment she felt the warmth of human contact, and the love of Elreda’s embrace, the tears began to come.
She didn’t realize how much she has missed such things, an embrace to tell her that she was still loved in spite of the fact that she had become a slave to the disease that imprisoned her.
It was the most simple of gestures yet one of profound power.
As Elreda gently squeezed, Rosamund couldn’t help the tears from flowing.
She couldn’t stop them.
The pain, the years of pain, washed down her face, dampening the veil that covered her twisted features.
Elreda felt the woman sob beneath her and her tears quietly joined Rosamund’s.
She couldn’t help it. Together, the old friends wept for the cruelty life had dealt Rosamund and for the soul she had seemingly lost. Perhaps it was too late to reclaim anything; perhaps not.
For the moment, the coldness from Rosamund was gone and, once again, she felt human.
She felt loved.
For the moment, it was simply her and Elreda, and a simple embrace that Rosamund needed so badly.
Elreda held her friend until the tears would no longer come, until, exhausted, Rosamund lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes as she was overcome by the emotion of the day.
Elreda pulled the coverlet up around her friend, seeing the sunken face and black fingers but remembering the pert nose and exquisite skin instead. That was what she chose to remember.
That was what she chose to see.
As Elreda left Rosamund sleeping in her chamber, the beautiful face from fifteen years ago was, in fact, the only thing she could remember.