Chapter 28 Your Dear Friend #2
The answer to every question he has ever wondered about me. Don’t you see? It isn’t fair to keep it from him anymore. Why shouldn’t I share this beauty, this precious special blessing, with the one I love?
“Lily,” he whispered in my ear just last night, his breath sweet with wine, “you beguile me, you charm me, your sweet strangeness would never allow me to leave here without you. There will never be another that compares.” It was the finest promise I have ever heard.
Perhaps a greater woman would have kept the secret for herself, but I have never claimed to be great.
I am simply a girl who, for reasons I know not, has found herself with a dazzling gift.
You were so welcoming of it. I know he shall be too.
Your dear friend,
Lily
Sunday 15 October
Dearest Magnolia,
I told him. As soon as the moonlight came—and it really was the most beautiful moonlight—I knelt at his feet and bloomed a single rose from the air. Just as I have shown you before. The perfect rich shade of red, with petals like silk and thorns that could mark a diamond.
I presented it between my hands as an offering, a simple display that I had hoped would impress him with the wonder that lays at my hands, for it has always been such a beautiful miracle to me.
I pleaded that he take my gift to show me that he will accept me for who I really am, the way that you have done and the way that Mama and Papa cannot.
If they had only permitted me to know the other witches, others like me, I may have known better.
Maggie, the answer is too painful to make permanent with ink upon these pages.
My cheek is scratched from the thorns, a single petal still entwined in my matted hair.
His face was thunder and fright, his voice louder still.
I felt the spittle land upon my face, and even with closed eyes, I felt the accusatory finger pointing straight at my soul.
Please do not visit. I cannot face your disappointment as a final blow. I will write again when I can bring myself to form the words to tell you more and when my heart is not so splintered. I fear it may never be whole again.
Your dear friend,
Lily
Friday 20 October
Dear M,
I know you are worried about me. You have always been a woman of the kindest heart and softest sympathies.
I am dreadfully sorry for ignoring your gentle letters and for sending your brother away with no word for you as to my state.
But I have nothing to offer in the way of friendship or kindness.
I am weak and tired and…Mere sadness does not brush against the feelings that weigh upon me.
I can barely bring myself to write this note, but as my oldest and most cherished friend, I owe you as much as the news that I am still here, however much I may wish otherwise. I wish the same could be said for him.
He has fled. He has left me, Maggie. Oh, how the darkness of this ink berates me! The permanence of its shadow on the paper feels an extra cruelty, as though it is something that I can never change.
But it has to change. I would do anything to ensure it.
I would give up all of this beauty and marvel and magic if it meant that he returned to me.
He will return. He has to return. He must return, for I know not how I can go on without his hand in mine.
I must tell myself again and again that there is a good and simple reason for his departure.
You and I both know how Mama is forever reminding me that a positive spirit can fool even yourself.
Perhaps he is seeking advice from a kind soul who will understand this sort of shock and teach him how best to approach such a wayward woman as he has been cursed to fall for.
Or maybe he is simply seeking the quiet of solitude to best understand his own opinion first on all of this madness.
It must have been quite the revelation for him.
I left so much at his feet, and he deserves his time to agonize.
I keep faith that he will come back for me. I must be patient and true above all else.
I know not how to be without him anymore. There is nothing I would not do.
Your dear friend,
Lily
Wednesday 25 October
M,
Five days have passed, and still there is no knock.
I have thought I heard it several times, rushed from my bed still in my nightgown to throw the door open, but I only find the moon.
I think it is my heartbeat that I hear, banging and rattling in a treacherous, empty torment.
Tell me what to do, Maggie. You were always so clever. What do I do?
I do not sleep for fear of missing his return. I do not eat, for everything might as well be ash. I cannot face the world and how it continues to spin as though it should not have stopped entirely without our love to keep it turning.
Once did I venture to the market for supplies—not that I had wanted to consume them, but simply in the hope that I might spot the top of his hat. Recognize the tread of his boots, be able to run to him and fix it all if he saw my face before him.
But all I heard were whispers, Maggie. Not only has he gone for good and left me in a life that he will never return to, but I fear he has told others of my secret.
How could I be so stupid as to celebrate something so shameful?
How could I think that goodness and light such as him could ever be compatible with this dark magic?
Not that it matters anymore. Let them feed me to the wolves for all I care.
What do I do, Maggie?
L