Chapter 3 Winter #4
It was late afternoon, the ground wet with snow melt and the sun almost broaching hot on Elana’s shoulders, when she arrived at the house, breathless and sweating.
She pulled at the laces of the gown, loosening it open, and slipped easily into one of her own, more familiar and comfortable.
Then she threw the pile of dark purple silk over her arm, and headed for the well.
The last of the snow was just disappearing on the meadow, and Elana knew that it wouldn’t be long before the first wildflowers peeked open.
For now, ferns awakened, round and dripping, unfurling into feathery green fronds that tickled her ankles as she sped past, and the green spears of tulips sliced skyward.
The whole meadow was a shining emerald jewel, glistening wet in the shadowless afternoon.
In the distance, the darkness of the woods drew into view, standing in stark contrast to the light of day.
To Elana’s surprise, the tent was still standing when she arrived.
She watched it from a distance, warily, as though the very weight of her gaze might bring it crashing down.
But no, it seemed to stand stronger and more solid than before.
Hung from the opening of the tent were pinecones and dried flowers, pretty leaves and ferns.
Elana approached, letting her fingers softly graze one of the ferns, the corners of her mouth gently lifting in a smile.
Nessa had decorated. Elana could hardly think of anything more beautiful or charming. More human.
Elana reached for the flap of the tent, unsure how to proceed. She couldn’t exactly knock, but she didn’t want to throw the tent open. That seemed rude. At last, she licked her dry lips. “Nessa,” she said, her voice coming out a creaky whisper, “I’ve brought you something to wear.”
The shadow woman stepped from the tent as though she had been standing right there and waiting for Elana to speak.
She was naked, the billowing streams of her dark hair hanging loose and free over her shoulders.
Elana’s throat grew tight at the beauty of her.
Her hips were wide and shapely and the curve of her breasts was so different than Elana’s own slight frame.
She found she couldn’t speak. Even if she could have, she had no idea how to form words at this particular juncture.
Instead, she simply held out the purple gown.
“You made this for me?” asked Nessa, and it sounded just like it had when Elana presented the tent, and just like before, Elana could only nod.
“Help me put it on then,” insisted Nessa.
Elana held the gown open for Nessa to step into, and the cool brush of shadows on her shoulders as Nessa balanced there sent a rush of steam through Elana.
She pulled the gown up and Nessa threaded her arms into place.
Elana pulled the strings at the back tight, cinching Nessa’s shape into existence.
There was no mirror; Nessa had to trust Elana’s assessment of the situation. “How does it look on me? Do I look like a real woman?”
Elana had no words. The shapely shadow before her seemed more like a human each visit.
The color of her hair was differentiated now from the shadows making her skin, and she was as comely as the night reflecting on water.
“You look more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen,” said Elana breathlessly.
It was impossible to imagine that the cheeks of someone made of shadow could glow, but it did seem to be what Nessa’s face was doing. The shadow there darkened prettily, and if she were human, Elana was sure that would equate to a blush.
Something beneath her skin tingled, everything in her awareness filling with a warm, sweet ache.
And then Elana knew. This. This feeling, this achingly familiar near-memory of a feeling, was real happiness.
This moment, right now, was the last time she was happy.
It filled her from the bottoms of her feet to the very roots of her hair, and her cheeks bloomed warm knowing it was her handiwork, her silk, her gown, that had pleased Nessa so.
And she did seem happy, too. Nessa laughed, more than her previous sultry chuckles.
This was a pure, full-throated laugh. It was the first time Elana had heard the sound, and it tinkled like water trickling into a well.
Nessa twirled in the gown, spreading the dark silk like the petals of a night blooming flower caught in the wind.
When her spinning stopped, Nessa stared at Elana with her wide, dark eyes. The two women stood, frozen in time, as the last of the sunset glinted jewel-bright above the distant mountain tops.
“You’re the first person to show me any type of kindness in more than a century.” Nessa’s hands gathered the silk of the gown in anxious fists as though she couldn’t decide what else to possibly do with them in that moment.
No kindness in a hundred years. Nothing but hatred and revulsion. Imprisonment. “You’ll ruin the silk,” said Elana in a choked whisper, nodding toward Nessa’s crumpled hands.
Admonished, Nessa opened her hands, placating the fabric. Her gaze dropped to the skirts, and then she looked up at Elana, almost shyly.
She rushed forward then and threw her arms around Elana, pressing her shadows against Elana’s brightness, and Elana was nearly too stunned to react. She closed her eyes, feeling the press of Nessa’s body against her own.
The shadow woman was surprisingly warm and firm and real, and Elana felt as though she could disappear into her embrace forever.
Slowly, she forced her arms to return the affection, turning her face into Nessa’s neck and inhaling the metallic earthen scent of her.
Her fingers tangled in Nessa’s hair, the sleek strands winding smoothly between her fingers, a dark living thing of their own.
When Nessa pressed back, her hair slipped through Elana’s grip, and it was the last thing that connected the two of them. When the last strands slid free of Elana’s fingers, she breathed again at last.
Nessa bit her lip. “Take me to the village then,” she said, twirling toward the well, her shadows curling around her and dancing at her feet as her skirts spun and filled. “I want to be a real person, like you.”
Shock chilled Elana instantly, her fingertips numbing with it. Images flew through her mind: the horror of the villagers, the fear of her younger brothers. The bloodied puppets. The dozen massacred.
The sheer betrayal Marcus would feel knowing that all this time, Elana really had been with the shadow monster.
She pressed her lips together. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her pulse. “The village has been terrified of you for a hundred years.”
There, in the sunset, Nessa stopped.
Elana hurried to explain. “I don’t mean to be unkind. But you’re still a monster, Nessa, no matter what gown you wear. You still eat shadows. You killed twelve people. And that’s not how people act. It—you will scare people.”
Nessa froze, seeming to think about this for a moment.
A sudden gust of wind howled down from the mountaintops, capturing the branches at the edge of the Somberweald.
The wind trapped an old leaf, a remnant of last summer, and carried it over the mouth of the well, and something danced across the ground, distracting Nessa.
The leaf was from the Somberweald. And it carried a shadow across the ground with it.
Nessa’s eyes went wide at the sight of it. The tip of her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips as they parted. Elana’s cheeks reddened at the sight of Nessa’s mouth.
But her chest also constricted with fear. She could tell that Nessa was hungry, and she was about to unhinge her jaw and devour this tiny shadow whole.
But instead, Nessa looked at Elana, licked her lips once more, and turned away from the shadow on the ground.
“Aren’t you hungry?” asked Elana.
Nessa smiled almost sweetly and came to Elana, reaching for both her hands, and the two women stood together as the last of the sunset disappeared and the moon painted the field of fresh green growth in shades of deep blue. “Ravenous,” answered Nessa.
“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Elana’s whole life she was taught to be frightened of the monster in the well. But Nessa’s whole life, she had eaten shadows. And Elana wasn’t sure it was fair that Nessa should have to change her true nature in order to be around the townsfolk.
“What’s not to understand?” asked Nessa.
There was no bitterness in the question, only a flat, toneless acceptance.
“I eat shadows. Your village fears those who eat shadows so much that they hated and reviled me. They drove me to rage and destruction with their hate, and then they only hated and feared me more. Clearly, we can never reconcile these differences.”
“Then help me.” Elana pulled Nessa into the makeshift tent and down to the ground. “Help me understand eating shadows.”
Nessa, visibly shaking off thoughts of rage and destruction, tucked her gown beneath her, protecting her skin from the cold ground, and Elana did the same.
Nessa’s answer came slow and halting, like she had never had to think about it before, like it was hard to put into words what was so special about this thing that made her who she was but also made her monstrous to others.
“The shadows fill me up in a way that nothing else in my life ever has. The taste of them is sweeter and more fulfilling than anything else I’ve ever eaten.”
“Better than chocolate?” Elana asked.
Nessa pulled a sour face. “Chocolate tastes like ash in comparison. Shadows are… deeper and sweeter, and they feel like a cool solidness in your mouth but they also taste richly of fine spices. They are filling like a hearty stew but smooth like the most velvet of puddings.”
Elana watched raptly as Nessa closed her eyes and explained. Her mouth watered and her stomach dropped low, and Elana longed to run her fingers over the lacy fineness of Nessa’s eyelashes, where they brushed softly against her dark cheeks.
When Nessa was done and opened her eyes, she looked at Elana with a face that begged the girl to understand. Elana licked her lips, and led with a request. “Maybe, someday, you could show me. Someday you could let me have a taste.”
“Maybe,” agreed Nessa. And then her face sharpened and became sly as a fox, her grin spreading with a wry twist. “Maybe, if you take me into town.”
Elana looked away from Nessa, peering out the flap of the tent as it moved softly in the night breeze. From here, she could not see her home, could not see the village. They both seemed like abstract concepts right now, whereas Nessa was real and solid and right in front of her.
The desire she’d felt beneath her skin her whole life blazed, an exquisite, longing ache.
This was what it was all for; she longed to taste the shadows Nessa had described.
All her want orbited around the dark sweetness at the bottom of the well.
This desire to taste the shadows was the darkness that she’d felt within her all along.
But she knew the townsfolk would react badly to seeing Nessa.
In fact, they would revolt. The priestesses would renew their watch at the well, and Elana would probably never see Nessa again.
And Elana would be shunned. Probably her whole family would be, too, because it would seem impossible that Elana had kept such a dark secret to herself in a family so close.
And Marcus would never forgive her. Perhaps he’d even turn her over to the priestesses at last, to be bound to the temple, to waste away and die.
“After all,” continued Nessa sweetly, “you built me a house. You brought me a dress. What is this third small thing in comparison?”
It was true. Building the tent and weaving and sewing the dress were far more arduous tasks than simply walking Nessa into town. Yet Elana’s heart dreaded the reaction of others more than anything, and she denied Nessa’s request once again.
“I can’t, Nessa.”
Nessa’s fingers curled and uncurled in her lap, her face tilted down, avoiding Elana’s eye. At last, she looked up at Elana through her lashes. Her lower lip quivered, and Elana’s heart crumpled. “Will you come see me again, then?”
“Of course,” Elana breathed, “every moment I can spare.” And she meant it.