Chapter Two #2
The mark at my throat pulses faintly, answering something beyond the walls.
My chest feels tight beneath the weight of the day—of soil thrown over a coffin, of blood soaking into earth, of eyes turning toward me in expectation.
The memory of his mouth against my skin returns with merciless clarity.
My body answers it, heat rising in places that should not burn in a shed full of women murmuring piety.
It remembers what it felt like to move without watching eyes, to breathe beneath open branches, to let my hair fall loose down my back without being told to bind it.
Beside me, Mama shifts in her sleep and mutters half a prayer. On my other side, Elena breathes steadily, her braid resting against her cheek. I watch the rise and fall of her shoulders and feel the distance between us widen without sound.
The thought of tomorrow presses down on me.
The altar. The vows. Radu’s hand closing around mine. Popa Dorin’s eyes, cold and measuring. A house where windows face away from the forest. Days measured by obedience. Children taught to fear what lives beyond the last fence post.
Moving from kitchen to well to field and back again under the watchful eye of a husband who thinks he knows the shape of my desire.
Sharing a bed from which there is no silent ladder to climb, no door I can ease open without waking another body beside mine.
The woods shrinking behind the line of fields, further each season.
My fingers curl into the straw.
I think of the woods at dusk, the way the light lingers between trunks, the way it opens without asking me to shrink. I think of the lake and the willow, of bare feet on moss. I think of the lamb’s eye fixed on the sky while men called it cleansing.
The shed feels smaller with every breath.
I turn onto my side and close my eyes, but the darkness inside is crowded with faces and words and hands. My pulse beats loud in my ears. I feel the walls pressing inward, the roof lowering, the air thinning.
I cannot remain here.
I feel it the way I feel my own blood moving—steady, certain. A pull, low and insistent, drawing me toward it. The darkness beyond the barn walls is no longer empty, it is alive with him. He is there. I know it without sight. He is waiting for me.
He will take me with him this time.
If I stay, the rope will tighten. The vows will be spoken. The door will close.
I lift my head slightly. Across the barn, the faint outline of the entrance shows against the dark. A figure rises from the men’s side. Old Mircea shuffles toward the door, muttering under his breath as he fumbles with the latch. The wood creaks softly, cool air spilling in before he steps outside.
Now.
I push myself upright. The straw rustles beneath my weight, but no one stirs. My heartbeat thuds so loudly I am certain it will wake them all. I move again, one careful step after another, keeping my skirts lifted slightly to avoid brushing against the others.
The door remains open only a moment, but I am farther than I was last night. The women have been pushed to the back, away from the entrance, away from easy escape. I am still several paces away when Mircea reenters, pulling it closed with a dull thud. The latch falls into place.
I freeze.
The darkness presses in again as though nothing had shifted at all. Mircea shuffles back to his place. A low snore resumes.
I stand there for a breath longer, the distance between me and the door stretching wide as a field. Then I turn back, lowering myself onto my blanket. I lie on my back, eyes open, watching the faint outline of the roof beams. My pulse refuses to slow.
Time crawls. Every small sound makes me jump—the scratch of someone turning in sleep, the rustle of wool, the soft whistle of breath drawn and released. I count heartbeats. I lose count. I begin again.
At last, the latch moves.
The sound is soft, but to me it splits the dark cleanly in two. The door opens once more, slower this time. A sliver of starlight spills across the packed earth floor. My breath catches in my throat.
I rise again, quicker now, the urgency pressing at my ribs.
I do not look at anyone. I do not think.
My feet find the narrow path between sleeping bodies.
The air shifts as I pass, but no one wakes.
The door grows larger with every step, the slice of sky widening before me.
I see the trees beyond, their branches stirring faintly against the night.
I feel the pull of them like a hand at my back.
Just a few more steps.
The cold air reaches my face. I am close enough to see the stars clearly now, scattered above the dark line of the forest. My fingers lift, ready to slip around the edge of the door—
A hand closes around my arm. It jerks me backward before I can even gasp, fingers digging into flesh, halting me mid-step. My breath vanishes. I turn slowly, dread crawling up my spine.
Old Petru stands there, eyes wide and unblinking in the dark.
His fingers dig deeper when I twist, the bone of his thumb pressing into the soft inside of my arm. I can feel the heat of him through my sleeve, the sour edge of ale on his breath as he leans close.
"Where are you going, girl?" he whispers, though there is nothing gentle in it.
The door stands open beside us, night pouring in like spilled ink. My chest heaves once before I force the air steady.
"I—" The word fractures in my mouth. "I saw the door. It was open. I thought—" I swallow. "I thought it best to close it."
His eyes narrow. In the dim light they gleam, as though measuring the shape of my lie.
He gives a faint laugh, but his grip does not loosen. "No need for you to fret," he says. "The men keep watch. Mircea only stepped out to ease himself."
The pressure on my arm increases as he speaks, until a thin line of pain runs from wrist to shoulder. I force myself not to pull away. The night air brushes my cheek for one last breath, carrying the scent of pine and frost. I try to hold it there.
"You’ll go back with the women now," he adds, voice tightening slightly. "You must rest. It is not fitting for a bride to wander about at night."
My voice has gone somewhere beyond reach. I nod, the motion small. My throat feels closed.
He studies my face for another moment, searching for something I cannot allow him to see. Then, at last, his fingers release me. The skin where he held me burns in their absence. I step back without looking at him, eyes fixed on the open doorway.
Old Mircea’s shape moves toward us from the dark, adjusting his belt. He slips inside with a grunt, and the door swings inward behind him.
Stars vanish one by one behind rough wood. The trees disappear into shadow. The air thins and is gone.
The latch falls into place with a soft, final click. I stand there a heartbeat too long, staring at the seam where night has been shut out, as though I might will it open again. The scent of the forest lingers faintly in my lungs, already fading.
Behind me, the barn settles back into its heavy breathing.
I return to my place without feeling the steps beneath my feet.
The blanket scratches against my palms as I lower myself onto it.
The barn settles around me again—breath, straw, the faint shifting of bodies—but it all feels distant now, muffled, as though I am already somewhere else.
My arm throbs where Petru held me. My throat pulses where he marked me.
I draw my shawl higher, curling inward, trying to hold the warmth inside my chest where it hurts the most.
Tomorrow they will bind me. Tomorrow there will be vows and hands and eyes watching to make sure I do not falter.
My chest tightens until breathing feels like work. I press my forehead against the crook of my arm and bite down hard to stifle the sound rising in my throat. The scent of hay fills my lungs. It does nothing to steady me.
Please.
The word forms silently on my tongue.
I close my eyes.
Please let me sleep. Let me wake beneath the trees.
Let me open my eyes and see the sky instead of these beams. Let me feel moss beneath my back instead of straw.
Let him be there. Let his hands be the first thing I feel again.
Let me feel again the weight of him beneath me, his hands steady at my hips while I move, guiding nothing, forcing nothing. Letting me choose. Letting me take.
My body answers the memory at once. Heat spreads low and deep, coiling through my stomach, my thighs, rising until my breath stutters against my sleeve.
I press my legs together, trying to quiet it, but the ache only deepens.
I feel again the press of his lips, the graze of his teeth, the murmured words against my skin like prayers spoken directly into my blood.
Every breath carries the echo of his voice. Every pulse remembers his mouth.
I want him.
The realization beats through me, raw and undeniable. It claws upward from somewhere primal, something older than the rules that shaped my days. My fingers curl into the wool beneath me, gripping tight as though I might hold onto the sensation itself.
I cannot marry. I cannot fold myself back into the shape they have carved for me.
The thought spirals through me, frantic now.
I see Radu’s face in my mind, the room that will be mine, the narrow bed, the walls that will close in night after night.
No forest. No sky. No running barefoot through damp grass with moonlight on my shoulders.
No hidden flowers pressed between linen folds. No secret door opening into darkness.
My breath breaks. I turn onto my back, staring into the dark, lips moving soundlessly. I pray without words now, each silent plea thrown into whatever power might still be listening.
Please. Take me.
Let me open my eyes to darkness and branches and the sound of his breath instead of this suffocating air. Let this—this rope, this barn, this promise of vows and walls and watchful eyes—be the dream instead.
The barn creaks softly as someone shifts nearby.
I do not move. I lie rigid, eyes squeezed shut, willing the world to tilt the way it has before, to slip its boundaries and carry me back into his arms. My whole body feels drawn toward something just out of reach, straining like a tether pulled too tight.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the wind moves through the trees. I imagine it is his breath against my skin.
I cling to that thought until exhaustion finally drags me under, my last conscious plea still echoing through me.
Let me wake with him.
Let me wake where he is.
Let me belong there.