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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

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timeless - 01

PAIRING: medieval!james “bucky” barnes x reader

WARNINGS: sexual content (18+)

A/N: hello! today i’m on a roll, having so much fun writing. thank you so much for the support for the first prelude, hope you enjoy the first chapter xx

NEXT CHAPTER

The noble man is not shy about their situation and as he pulls her slip up to her shoulders, draping it right under her chin as he slide his hands in the back of her thighs, pushing her knees to fold to her chest making her whimper and beg with breathless and quiet cries of pleasure. The Grand Duke had barely touched her and the touches he had given were much too soft for her to find herself already hot with her wetness spreading throughout her lower body.

Opening her mouth to speak, she tried to say something, ask something even but before she could do as such he slowly caressed her bottom lip, making her gasp against it and at his cold touch. Her tongue wrapped around his thumb slowly and eagerly as he pushed it forward and into her mouth allowing her to suck on it.

She caught a glimpse of his sly grin as he lodged himself in between her spread out legs, her warm skin rubbing sinfully against his while his hands slide up and down her legs before closing them behind his back, locking them vigorously to which she responded with a slight yelp when his large cock snaps into her. As it stretched her walls, she felt her whole body shake and shiver almost as she’d been lacking this experience for years. With his hands on either side of her body, he started rocking at a steady pace with his arms tangled around her torso, pulling and pushing her in ways that made her think only animals could mate like this. His hips snapped back and forth, in and out of her, making her scream loudly in both pain and pleasure which engulfed her entire being.

She felt her back lift from the mattress as his cold lips slide along her neck and chest, nipping and nibbling at every bit of skin they encountered and sucking until they were his to claim from sight and sight alone. The red and purple tones looked so real - they felt so real too, everything felt so real.

And when he pulled at the back of her head, with an arm firmly pressed against her back and his naked hips flushed against hers, Y/N knew, she knew fully well, that it was far beyond any dream she had.

She woke up with the sun shining in the direction of her eyes, however the sun was still rather low on the horizon. She groggily moved er legs to the side, noticing how her slip was still on. Her hand brushed the side of her neck, somewhat still feeling the ghost of the dream Grand Duke’s lips there. Curiously, she grabbed a mirror from her night stand, holding it up to her face but there were no marks, her neck was untouched. What a vivid dream.

A sudden knock on the door wakes her from her transe and she found that she’s still sweaty and, now, even warmer and wetter in between her smooth legs. She shout out she was improper at the moment, that she could not receive or see any visitors right away and that whoever who was at the door should wait until she was proper, and the knocks on the door stop. She grabbed her used dress from the ground, throwing it on before rushing over to the door, one hand on he handle and another one against the wood of the door, opening it ever so slightly.

- Oh, Eliza, are you alright? - she asked, adjusting her hat.

- The princess and the prince went out for a town visit and me and the girls were wondering if you’d like to join us for a walk in the gardens? It’s a lovely day out.

- I would love to.

- Great, we’ll wait for you outside the door then. - Y/N nodded before closing the door and walking to the still packed trunk to grab something proper for a garden walk. She settled with a lace ivory dress and a parasol, meeting up with the other ladies once she was ready to go.

From what she had gathered, they were mostly ladies of Genoa’s other noble families who had been personally summoned by the Queen to be part of court. Although all of them were nice and polished ladies, Y/N preferred Eliza’s company over the other women as she seemed to share a rather cut throat view of her situation and economic position much different from everyone else. She was also rather a fan of gossip which Y/N had to admit was entertaining.

As the women walked down the foot paths, Y/N couldn’t help but be enchanted by the beauty of the flora and fauna present in the royal gardens. The palace might’ve looked old and scary but the gardens seemed to hold a child like spirit blooming in several types of flowers, mostly lilies and daffodils with the most wondrous scent. Her eyes lingered on the flowers as their dainty heels hit the little pebbles of the pathway, stopping to smell the yellow daffodils illuminated by the cloudy skies. She closed her eyes to feel the scent hit all her senses until a different scent made her open her eyes once again. Roses. She could almost see them just from the scent alone, white roses with perfectly shaped drops of dew in a long garden. However, there were no roses in the garden, no sight of roses anywhere. As she looked up, she noticed that not a bit further was the same man who had visited her dreams just a few hours ago. It was now her turn to stare at him, watching eagerly as he stood next to the King dressed in lighter clothing, hair loose yet still using the dark leathered gloves.

The Grand Duke seemed to notice he was being watched as he turned his attention towards the lady in waiting which led her to place her parasol in front of her face, turning his back to him.

- I know. - Eliza gave her an understanding look. - He’s like the sun. You know he’ll burn you but you can’t help but look when it shines.

- What is he doing at court? - she questioned. Grand Duke was quite a high up status considering Addia had never had a King or Queen meaning the noble family ruled.

- Genoa and Addia have the oldest alliance in the world. The King brings him in whenever any of his children are engaged to foreign nobility. He seems to have a keen eye for people born for power, he knows a gold digger from an economic proposition.

- Do you really think he killed his wife? - she hid her face from his with her parasol.

- A couple screaming during a fire and only one comes out? The answer is right there.

- Why would he do that?

- Who knows. - she shrugged. - He’s not one to dally around with other women. Some people think he did it to escape a forced marriage but I personally believe he’s a sadist. If you go by his bedroom at night you can always hear screaming.

- Shame, I would personally warm his bed if he allowed me. - one of the ladies smirked, waving coquettishly at him.

- Let me know when to attend your funeral, Anne. - Eliza rolled her eyes, pulling the two girls away from the area. - I’m sure you’ll look lovely with death gracing your features.

- Don’t be worried, Eliza, he seems to be rather ... busy. - Anne opened her fan, fanning it ever so flirtingly, eyes quickly moving over to Grand Duke Barnes who was speaking with the King but at the same time keeping an eye on the lady in waiting’s back, almost unaware that everyone who passed by could see it. - Why don’t we go for tea?

- I really should wait for my princess.

- She’ll be fine, Y/N. - Eliza wrapped her arm around hers, guiding her towards one of their bedrooms where they would have tea. While most ladies decided to change into a different set of clothing, Y/N decided to go set down her umbrella instead of changing her clothings.

As she climbed down the stairs she found herself somewhere unknown. The portraits on the walls were different from the ones from last night and as she delved into the dark walls barely lit due to the harsh black out burgundy curtains covering each window, she realised she was much further away from where she wanted to be. Nevertheless she continued to walk down the halls, expecting that at some point she would reach her bedroom, exit or at least a wall. However, before she could continue with her walk into the palace upstairs, she noticed a slightly open door with dim lights coming from it. Her curiosity got the best of her and, after looking around to see if someone was near, she carefully padded towards the door.

She walked into the room, noticing the lack of decoration except for a few shelves with old dusty books. Y/N’s fingers danced on the top of the books, most being classical pieces any noble man of high education would have read, however as she kept looking, behind some books she found a few loose papers which caught her attention. She pulled them out noticing the titles “Critique of Pure Reason” and “Discourse on Inequality”.

- Do you read, milady? - she gasped out of surprise, dropping the papers on the floor as the man they had just been discussing stood a few feet away from her. - I didn’t intend to frighten you, my deepest apologies.

- These texts are banned in Genoa. - was the only thing she could manage to say before dropping to the floor to collect the papers, extending them towards him with shaky arms and hands.

- Genoa has always been very behind in scholarly matters. - he took the papers back, placing them back in its original spot, slowly passing by her side causing a waft of the same rose scent to pass by. Maybe it was just his cologne, she reasoned. - They belong to my wife, she was always one to be interested in new philosophies.

- Do you mind if I borrow them? There’s not a lot of enlightenment texts in Arendelle and my mother thinks it’s a dangerous philosophy. - she wondered if she should be asking someone believed to have ended his partner’s life for his partner’s texts but her curiosity took the best over her judgement.

- You can borrow whatever you’d like, milady. - she was about to thank him before the door hit the wall, calling for her and his attention.

- Y/N! - her mother burst through the room as if she was a child misbehaving and maybe she was as she was fraternising with someone all the people she met believed was nothing but good news. - Y/N, my darling, you were supposed to come and see your poor mother today.

- I got distracted. - she observed her shoes for a while before her eyes quickly gazed onto the Duke who had his lips tightly pressed. - Mother, this is Grand Duke James Barnes. Grand Duke, this is my mother Lady Catherine Bouvaire.

- Pleasure. - he remained stiff like a statue, hands behind his back. - I must return. Take whatever you’d like, milady. Good day.

The man left in a hurry, closing the door behind him rather harshly which made Y/N jump quite a bit before her mother placed herself in front of her sight, hands on her waist.

- You were supposed to have come visit me yesterday, Y/N. Have you already forgotten about your mother?

- No, mother. I am so sorry, I just ... I really have no excuse. - Y/N scratched the side of her wrist. - I returned to my chambers rather late.

- I hope Duke Barnes wasn’t the reason you were late. I don’t want you speaking with that man, he’s dangerous.

- Don’t you think it’s all gossip? There surely should be circumstances if he ... terminated someone’s life.

- Aw, darling ... - she pulled a fly away of hair behind her ear, hand caressing her skin from ear to chin. - You know why I worry, you’re too good but he’s a bad man, Y/N. Seeing you standing next to men like him always worries me they could hurt you.

- I’m sorry, mother.

- Why don’t you let me brush your hair, it always calms me down.

- Yes, mother.

tag list: @lookiamtrying @kmuir1 @anxiousdreamersworld @tinymalscoffee@navegandoaciegas

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ofnifflersandkings · 4 years

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Title: Royal Night Out

Character: Suki (The Last Airbender)

A/n: ah! my first story in literal ages, thank you @carpevflos for your super sweet request 🥺

•

“Don’t you think this is a little overdramatic?” You lamented to your mother, perched on a small stone bench in the garden of your home.

You heard her let out a long sigh, brushing her robes to the side as she sat next to you. Instinctively, you lent against her side, eyes closing when her hand came up to gently card it’s way through your hair.

“I know it may seem that way now,” She began, eyes flittering over to the small pond in the center of the garden. “But you know how your father is, it took a lot of compromising to let you go away on your own and I’m afraid this is the best I could get out of him.

You opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the bright sunlight that pooled into your vision. You knew any member of a royal family was subject to great danger regardless of where they were. But you were kept out of the public eye for the most part. It wouldn’t surprise you if you could walk along the marketplace without once being recognized.

But your father was an anxious man when it came to his children, of course all of your brothers were able to go on holidays unattended, but you were the eldest daughter and spent more time in diplomatic lessons than you did self-defense.

You stood from the bench, arms folding as you moved to stand under a tree. “I suppose it’s better than not being allowed to go at all.”

Your mother smiled at you, coming to stand beside you as she linked her arm in yours, moving you back inside the palace. “Try not to think about it too much, you might get to make a new friend.”

•

Another part of your father’s compromise on your travels was the absolute condition that you had to stay within the Earth Kingdom, that evening he presented you with a list of locations he deemed suitable to give you some kind of say.

You carded a brush through your hair as you looked the list over, half of them drawing complete blanks in your brain.

You were about to call it a night until you got to very end of the list and saw Kyoshi Island.

You remember reading about the peninsula in your geography lessons, how it was formed by the great Avatar Kyoshi and the women there could be trained into deadly warriors.

You smiled to yourself, imagining how it might to be able to learn how to protect and defend next to capable young women just like you.

The sound of your door being pulled open took you out of your reverie, an older servant woman smiled at you as she folded her hands. “Your father sent me to pass on the location of your travels, my lady.”

You cast one more glance at the list before beaming up her. “Tell him to prepare my travels to Kyoshi Island.”

•

In the coming days, all of your arrangements were taken care of, from which servants were to accompany you on your journey down to the wardrobe you were to wear.

The only thing left was the guard that was to be assigned for your stay. Part of you sincerely hoped your father might forget about the whole thing, but as you were about to part for your journey, he pulled you to the side.

“As you know, I had promised to send one of our guards with you on your travels-“ He carried on about the importance of your safety, and you drifted in and out practically knowing this speech by heart. “-But I have decided to allow one of the esteemed Kyoshi Warriors take the position instead.

That caught your attention immediately, and you lifted your brows to signal for him to continue with his explanation. “You don’t get the opportunity to interact with many girls your age, and your mother thinks it will be good for to make friends among them. So, their most skilled warrior has agreed to take the position for the entire duration of your stay, serving as your personal guard.”

“And her name?”

“She goes by Suki.”

•

You stepped off the boat, happy to finally feel solid earth beneath your feet. The only family member who came with you was your aunt, she was your most favorite family member and when she volunteered to chaperone you could’ve kissed her cheek in happiness.

She linked her arm with yours, her parasol shielding you both from the sunlight. “Now, the servants will settle in the rest of the house for us, in the meantime I will take you to meet your new guard.”

You felt your stomach tense, apart from the stuck up daughters of ladies you met at court, you didn’t really get to socialize with other girls your age. You worried she might resent having to watch over you like a pet when she was a real warrior.

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly noticed when you finally walked into one of the corridors in the house you’d be staying in, the tug from your aunt’s arm was the only thing that prevented you from tripping right into the door.

“She’s been waiting for you here,” Your aunt turned and gave you a blinding smile. “I trust you can take it from here?”

She laughed at the look on your face and gave you a small nudge forward. “Come now, you’re the daughter of a king! Charm is second nature to you.”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You winced at your meek tone, suddenly feeling very out of place in your dramatic travel robes and trinkets, but your mother insisted upon this look for your arrival.

“Oh please,” She drawled, dramatically swishing her the skirt of her robe. “Who could possibly dislike you?” She said with a wink and turned leave.

You stared at the ornate carvings on along the edges of the two doors, blankly watching the brass handle as if it would turn itself. You brushed the hair from your face and inhaled deeply, trying your best to appear regal as you entered the room.

Your confidence practically burst into a cloud the moment you laid eyes on the young Kyoshi warrior. She looked around your age her stance and demeanor made her seem more mature.

Your eyes met, immediately you were captivity but her elaborate make up. When you saw a small quip of her lips you adverted your eyes, focusing on the small gold details that encased the deep green of her uniform.

You had always seen them in the various scrolls of your library, but seeing it person made you understand why they were admired around the world.

“I’ve been told I’m to be your personal guard, my lady,” She spoke, bowing deeply as she approached you, the golden tassels in her hair dangling in front of her pale face.

The two of your gazes met again and you cleared your throat, standing a little taller. “You don’t need to bother with the titles,” You beamed, offering a polite smile. “Not when my father isn’t around at least. Simply (Y/N) is fine by me.”

Suki tilted her head, eyeing you curiously. “Hm, I must admit you surprise me. I’ve escorted my fair share of princesses on in this island but you might just be the first one to talk to me so frankly.”

You internally winced, knowing all too well the way other Earth Kingdom royalty behaved. It suddenly made you feel self-conscious about the elaborate robes your mother had absolutely insisted you wear upon your arrival. The silver trinkets in your hair suddenly feeling a lot heavier than they when you first entered the room.

“I’m sorry for their behavior.” You leant forward into a bow, head jerking upwards when you heard Suki begin to laugh heartily.

“What on earth are you apologizing for? It’s not like your at fault for other people,” She smiled brightly at you and began leading you to your bedroom. “I have no intention of judging you harshly on circumstances you have little control over.”

Your gazes met again as you walked side by side, one glance into her eyes made you shift your attention to the floorboards as embarrassment flooded your system.

Suki placed herself between you and the bedroom door, giving her opportunity to open it for you. Her arm extended outwards into the room and smiled at you again. “This is for you.”

You nodded, giving her a small grin as you went to walk past her. You hardly got through the threshold when she gently placed her hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Suki leaned forward so her lips barely brushed against the shell of your ear. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

•

The next couple of days moved by quicker than you thought they would, vacations with your family felt like they would never end. But you found a real companion in Suki, she was required to practically follow your every move. On like some gruff, old guard who felt more like a baby sitter than a friend it was extremely nice to get to spend time with someone your age.

All formalities were gone when you two were alone in each other’s company. She no longer intimidated you as much as she did when you first met, and she began to see you as more than just a polished princess from far away.

The one evening she noticed your eyes seemed particularly cloudy, you hummed along to her conversation but she could tell your mind was elsewhere. You were hardly trying to beat her at your game of Pai Sho and you rarely ever lost against her.

“Something bothering you, princess?” Suki asked, effectively getting your attention as she took a sip from her tea. The blush on your face made the corners of her lips turn up into a smile.

“I was just wondering what it’s like to be you.”

The statement made her quirk an eyebrow. Of all the things she expected you to say, that wasn’t even on the list of possibilities. Why would a member of the royal family care about what her life was like?

“What do you mean?”

You laughed softly, arms coming up to the table so you could lean your weight against them. “It’s silly really,” You reached your index finger to trace along the rim of your teacup. “I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be a real warrior.”

Suki leaned forward, the board game now sitting long forgotten. She sensed you had more to stay, so she nodded her head to let you know you had her undivided attention.

“My father is a very sweet man, but he’s always been very protective. I never learned how to fight or anything like that, the most I was ever permitted to do was sit on strategy meetings but that’s nowhere near as thrilling,” You looked up at her and faltered at how intently she gazed at you. “I could only dream of fighting along side other girls like you do. I can barely hold a dagger the right way let alone do any real damage in a fight.”

At this point, you expected a laugh or clever remark about how silly you’d look on the battlefield. But instead you watched Suki get up from her seat, walking down a set of steps into the open gardens where you were playing.

“Is something wrong?” You asked, already pushing yourself into a standing position to follow her.

Suki was facing away from you, and you worried you might have upset her with something you said. You reached out to place your hand on her shoulder, but you were barely hovering above it before she took hold of your wrist. In an instant, she had yanked you forward, shifting out of the way so you landed face first into the grass.

It took you a minute to orient yourself, still not entirely sure what happened. Suki leaned forward, a laugh escaping her as she saw your bewildered expression.

“You can take a hit like a champ” She teased, wrapping both her hands around your arms as she helped you stand upright again.

You brushed off your sleeping robes, huffing as you saw her smirk. “I’m assuming there was a reason for that.”

Suki folded her arms, taking a wide stance as she looked at you with a newfound determination. The moonlight overhead made her Kyoshi make up stand out starkly against the dark garden and you’re glad for the solitude.

“I’m going to train you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said you wanted to know what it’s like to fight? Alongside other women just like you, right?” Suki took a step towards you. “Well, I can do that for you. I’ve been told I can be quite the teacher.”

You hesitated, looking behind to make sure no one else had stepped outside. “I don’t know, I can’t imagine anyone would approve.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes looked mischievous and you couldn’t begin to know what was going on in that head of her’s.

Once again, as quick as you could manage to blink, she had you swept into a protective hold. Your back was pressed up against her chest, her golden fan unsheathed and hanging dangerously close to your neck and her one arm holding yours tight against you so you couldn’t escape even if you tried.

“I don’t think anyone needs to know.”

#SUKI IS A QUEEN #and i love her very much #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar imagine #avatar imagines #atla imagine #atla imagines #avatar suki imagines

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asterinjapan · 7 years

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Lady and the dragon

Good evening after a long and hot day! What the heck, that wasn’t the weather forecast. The hot part I mean, haha.

The weather should have been cloudy with the occasional shower today, so I dutifully packed an umbrella and coat to take with me last night. I hadn’t yet decided where to go, but I knew it wasn’t going to be too far since I was really tired after Sendai.

By Shonan Shinjuku line, I went from Ikebukuro directly to Ofuna. Here, it was quickly visible what I was meaning to visit. You see, when your train arrives in Ofuna, you can see a giant white head looming out over the tree tops. A little bit of googling taught me back in 2010 that this was the Great Kannon of Ofuna. Since Ofuna was a stop in between Tokyo and Kamakura, I never had the time to see it properly before, just catching glimpses from it from the station. Today was the day, however!

Itw as already sunnier than predicted, so I for now assumed it would just get cloudy in the afternoon (spoiler: no, it didn’t, not until near sunset anyway). Of course, the statue is on a hill top, so I took a pretty steep walk uphill to reach the premises.

Kannon is a bodhisattva, an Enlightened creature from Buddhism, and she’s specifically the goddess of mercy. The building of thi Kannon statue started in 1929, but they didn’t manage to finish it before the Pacific War. In the end, it would take until 1960 before they managed to finish it, and by then, the Second World War had ended for a while. The statue actually incorporates stones from ground zero from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and inside a statue, you can see a fire burning: this is a fire that started in Hiroshima after the bombing and has been kept aflame ever since to commemorate the dead. So that was a bit of a heavy-loaded entrance, whoa…

After a moment of silence (I was here alone anyway), I made my way uphill to find the actual statue. The Kannon is only pictured from her chest up, actually; it’s 25 metres tall, so an imposing sight and doing very well on my pictures, what with the nearly clear blue skies in the background.

You can actually enter the statue, and you will find a little museum and a shrine here. I was still alone, so I stood there in utter silence, which is quite the experience if you just came from ever busy Tokyo.

It was a short stop; I took my time exploring the grounds, and I think it still only took me like half an hour tops. Still, if you have a little time for your trip to Kamakura or Enoshima, I’d definitely recommend it.

Speaking of Enoshima, that was my next destination. I first had lunch in Ofuna’s station since it was getting around that time anyway, and then bought a day pass for the Shonan Monorail, which brings you from Ofuna to Enoshima in 14 minutes. It’s actually a little faster to take the train, but the monorail is quite the experience, as it’s suspended in the air above the normal traffic. I’m not sure why I keep doing these things since I’m so terrified of heights, but alright, it was pretty exciting. Minus the part where the monorail went straight through the mountain, as it meant it went through a tunnel and you really noticed just how fast the thing really is. Kinda like a roller coaster indeed… (Although don’t take it from me, I’m the kind of person to scream bloody murder in a roller coaster for four year olds.)

Near the end of the line, I saw the mountains more clearly and – wait, what the heck, was that Mount Fuji? Are you kidding me?

A couple of steps out of the Enoshima monorail station confirmed: that flimsy mountain had finally decided to show up! Well, there goes my running gag for this trip, haha. I quickly snapped some pictures, since Fuji is notorious for disappearing behind the clouds in the blink of an eye, and then walked towards the actual island of Enoshima (shima means, eh, island. It’s an island). At tourist information office, I picked up a day pass and asked for the recommended route – the ladies here were very helpful and I actually managed to chat a little in Japanese, hallelujah. (My Japanese has been pretty awful so far, oops.) Turns out one of them had lived in Eindhoven for a while! Haha.

Anyway, armed with a pass and a map, I walked the long bridge that leads to the actual island – a walk in bright sunshine, making the island seem tropical in the distance. It really was a lovely day for it. In the far-off distance, Mount Fuji was still cheerfully peeking through the clouds, what the heck.

Along the bridge, I started seeing dragons. They have everything to do with Enoshima, as the island’s shrines are dedicated to Benten (short for Benzaiten), a popular goddess of luck. Legend has it that she rose Enoshima from the depths of the seas and appeared there before the people in the area, who were terrified as they had been terrorized by a dragon for years. The five-headed monster saw Benten, fell in love with her and proposed, as one does as a terrorizing five-headed dragon. Benten refused because she wanted it to get its act together first, and so it bettered its ways and may or may not have married Benten as yet. Yup.

So that’s an interesting history for sure, haha. The shrines together form the Enoshima shrine dedicated to Benten, and you can explore them by climbing a loooot of stairs, or by opting out of those and paying for an escalator. Which I did, because the pass I got earlier gave me entrance to the escalators, haha. So that’s convenient! Enoshima is pretty touristy, but that’s also nice, because it means pretty much all plates are translated into English and there’s a lot of information going around. I took a ton of pictures of them.

The weather was really nice today, but it was also pretty hot, pff. Luckily, there’s a nice garden here on Enoshima, where you can cool down a little with some iced maple cappuccino and what not. So there I was, facing out over the mainland with a parasol to shield me from the sun. Ah, that’s the life.

Further on, there’s a lighthouse that doubles as a sightseeing tower, and as you may have guessed, my pass gave me free entrance to that too. So I took the elevator up and bam! Mount Fuji! Still there! Needless to say I took a ton of pictures of the view, haha.

Once outside, I quickly walked further ahead, delighted now that the sun was hiding and it was slightly more bearable walking weather. There were no more escalators as I walked to the other end of the islands, walking past the part where two parts of the island split. Whoa, the forces of nature were really strong here, Enoshima sure has amazing sights!

Anyway, I had my mind set on the Iwaya caves since I thought they’d close around 5, but luckily, in summer the time has been extended to 7 PM. I slowed down a little to look around a bit, but I definitely wanted to make it to those caves. These caves were naturally formed thousands of years ago, and there’s two of them. One contains information about the caves, and you’re handed a candle to go all the way into the end of the cave, where you can find various Buddhist statues and the originas of the Benten temple, dating back to the 6th century. Super cool! Uh, both literally and figuratively actually, since the caves are under water and thus nice and chilly in summer. There was some water dripping through the walls, and I could taste the salt of the sea on my lips.

The other cave was a walk away past some more amazing sights, and is dedicated to the terrorizing dragon. There’s a statue at the end of a dragon, clad in changing light, with the message that if you make a wish and clap your hands twice, your wish will come true if the light flashes. It did for me! Gosh, I sure am lucky this trip, haha.

I really love the caves and I wanted to hang around here a lot longer, but it was getting a bit cloudy now at last and I had a suspicion I wasn’t going to see a sunset on Mount Fuji anyway. So I slowly walked back, making one more detour uphill to find a bell. This is actually a Love bell; couples come here to ring it together and to leave a lock on the fence. I’m alllll byyyy myyyyself here, haha, but the bell has very nice sights and it’s pretty photogenic anyway.

After some final photos, I walked all the way down, since there were no escalators going down, haha. With some last parting shots of Mount Fuji, I noticed it was indeed going back into hiding behind the clouds. I sure had been lucky today.

So that was my pretty busy, but pretty delightful day! Tomorrow I’ll be going to Yokohama and trying not to faint (it’s going to be 35 C and sunny, so it will feel like 43 C or something, I am so happy), and meet up with my friend one more time.

Ah, the end is drawing near… I really, really don’t want to go. I don’t think I’m ever going to be ‘done’ with this country, and I’m already planning new things to do or redo on my next trip.

For now, good night and at least still 2 full days in Japan left!

#report #japan 2017 #report: japan 2017 #places: enoshima

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travelwankerworld · 5 years

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The first thing to say is that this was a lovely location for a week’s chilled getaway!

We would definitely return……not something we usually say or do but this was perfect for a simple week away.

The minor ‘blip’ is that it flies direct from Gatwick.

From Luton, you can fly to Corfu & get a ferry.

We booked this little break via TUI & was quite frankly a bargain – £380 each – Flights, transfer & hotel with breakfast.

The usual start – Train, Wetherspoons for Punk IPA & this time we had nachos.

When our flight was called & we went to our gate, we knew we had struck gold! 98% of the people on the plane were older than us!

Magic!

Easy flight, easy pick-up at the airport. One hour transfer to Parga & just us dropped off at the Rezi Hotel.

We had in-theory gone for the cheapest room & the reviews were okay albeit a tad small etc.

What we got was a far cry from what we expected & we are pretty sure we got better than we were supposed to.

We had a great room!

Lots of space. Fridge & kitchen area.

This was more a studio apartment rather than a pokey room.

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So off we went for an explore.

The ‘front’ was about a 10-minute walk away & was lovely.

Nice beach & various restaurants & bars.

We had a wander & ended up in a little bar upstairs for a pint & followed by a 7% craft beer.

Here we witnessed 2 people, who should have known better, necking for ages! Really quite off-putting.

The final stop before bed was for a Gyros in the #1 place to buy them – Fillippas – It was gorgeous! & at €3 each was a bargain. It made it even better than you can also order a big glass of cold white wine to have with it for €2

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It was pork meat from the kebab + onion, peppers, pickles, sauce & chips….all rolled up into a pitta type of bread.

Just look how happy Lisa is! #foodporn

Bed.

Our first full day we stayed by the pool in the sun.

That evening we went to Dokos Taverna

It was Greek night.

This was the only thing we had booked & it was a good job.

It was a very big restaurant & was pretty busy. The food & wine was pretty cheap & pretty good.

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But.

We were there for the entertainment!

The main ‘Guitar’ guy was superb! What a talent.

They did quite a few songs. Then came the famous Greek song (think ‘Lock, Stock & 2 Smoking Barrels’) where they got loads of people up!

https://travelwanker.world/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/VID_20190613_222157.mp4

https://travelwanker.world/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/VID_20190613_222937.mp4

It was a good laugh. Lisa got roped in.

I, as a man, did the man thing & stayed put at the table drinking wine.

Talking of wine, we drank loads! 2 litres between us & we were not pissed at all!?

One of the highlights were 2 women that were dancing to the music on their own. One of them had massive bangers & here friend/sister (we are sure on purpose) was making her jig up & down & they were bouncing.

A lot!

The phrase ‘two dogs fighting in a bag’ springs to mind.

I don’t think there was anybody that hadn’t noticed, it was that obvious!

She is far right on the bottom video – trust me, that little bit is very tame.

Anyway, a great little night.

Next day was a day on the beach.

We got on the front row with 2 loungers & parasol (€8). Lovely.

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Later in the afternoon, to get out of the sun, we went exploring to see what was behind the restaurants.

We sought out the #1 on Trip Advisor which was a little bar called ‘The Meeting Place‘ – what a find this was.

Beer in frosty glasses & with every round you got a little plate of Mezzi (AKA Free Food!)

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We returned here quite a few times!

We also met a couple Jim & Marylyn – they were very well-travelled and had been coming to Parga for 40yrs!

They were an excellent source of information and we saw them there quite a few times.

That afternoon we went up to the castle via a route they suggested & visited the Brazilian Green Cup for a cocktail.

It was a lovely place.

Whilst trying to find the bar (you go down) we mistakenly went up and kept going until we basically walked into someones flat/apartment…..

…..& they were sat there.

They were lovely (like all the people we met) – we apologised but they just invited us up to appreciate the view they had over Parga in their apartment (which they have been coming to for years):

Not bad!

It was called Martha Studios

We carried up to the Castle for the obligatory look & pics.

That evening we went for what was our only ‘posh’ meal of the week & even that wasn’t very expensive – The 5 Senses

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It was really nice.

We also had real wine. It was red & it got us a bit pissed.

Another beach day. This time it was busier as it was a bank holiday. Sunbeds went up to €10.

Went for a few cocktails at the Sail In where we got a great seat on the top floor overlooking the bay.

Ouzo, Beer & Baked Feta.

That evening we ate at a real ‘no frills’ local restaurant that has been recommended – Restaurant Victoria – it was a lovely family-run restaurant – we ate on a table on the street which was nice (rather than inside), it was only when we left that we realised that it was pretty big & there was restaurant seating out the back in an outside courtyard.

I’m not sure when it happened but at some point, Ouzo became a part of the whole evening drinking process when we went out for a meal.

Ouzo with ice. Goes cloudy & is lovely.

The next day was the all-day boat trip over to Paxos. We booked & paid for this the day before just to make sure we did it! It can be so easy to be really lazy on holiday.

After reading all the reviews & wandering around the few boats that did that trip we decided to go with Marco Polo.

It is funny, I never look forward to these sort of things; for some reason, I feel a bit anxious. I’m not sure why. We got to the boat about 9.30 am as instructed & it was due to sail at 10 am.

We got put on the main bit by the sail where you could, in theory, sunbathe – yep, my worst nightmare.

It was really hot already, there was no breeze & I was stood/sat in the blazing sun already feeling none too great. I ended up going to stand on the other side of the boat in the shade as more & more people kept piling on.

Most were Greek as it was their bank holiday.

It was leaving at 10 am & was due back at 5 pm – that is a long day.

Finally, we left & a breeze arrived.

About 3 minutes after we started off the stereo kicked in playing the ‘Crazy Frog’ song!!

Holy Fuck!! – What have we done!? My little heart sank…..

Anyway, after that, the music was pretty decent, mostly Greek but okay – then just after 10.30 am we cracked a beer & chilled.

It turned out to be an absolutely superb day!

The Captain on the boat, Billy was excellent with everyone as were a couple of crew with him.

We went to 2 swimming stops which were stunning & in caves. We ended up in Paxos for about 90 mins which were just long enough for a beer & a quick bite to eat.

Then back to Parga.

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At one of the stops, the captain scaled up a cliff & seemed to get pretty high.

A few people followed suit & he was encouraging them to jump/dive in. They all declined and crawled back down to safety for a massive anti-climax.

The captain, however, did the complete opposite!

https://travelwanker.world/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/VID_20190616_130404.mp4

It really was a cracking day which we will do again if we ever return & I will not be nervous/anxious!

We got off the boat & went for a pint at the Meeting place for a change.

Enroute we booked the highest-rated pizza place for the evening’s meal & got the best table right at the front, looking out at the bay & for people watching – Delizie Pizza & Pasta

What a great day.

The next day we spent by the pool at the hotel for the sunbathing part of the day. It had been hot all week – mid 30 degrees. Am slowly working out that dipping in & out of the pool/sea is the way to do it and thus staying cool/comfortable. In the past, I generally couldn’t be asked & would try & ‘tough it out’ – stupid!

#olddognewtricks

That evening, before we went for dinner, we tried the cocktail place just by the beach which was always offering cheap cocktails – why were they cheap? because they clearly had no booze in them whatsoever! – what a load of shit! Out of principle, they will not get named.

So for dinner, we were off to another recommendation of Jim & Marlyn (which Lisa had also picked out as one to go to on as part of her extensive research) – La Barca – it was a little restaurant just around the corner from our hotel which was run by 2 brothers.

It was a great little place that they recommended for the meatballs. Nothing fancy, just honest cheap but good grub!

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After food, we went for a wander. I can’t remember if it was intentional or if we stumbled upon it & it was still open……

Crazy Golf!!

This pastime is great anyway but becomes even greater when half-cut!

This is compounded as we went round with big glasses of Ouzo! this was after the lad running the place insisted we also have some shots before we went round.

We started at about 11.30 pm – this is usually way past our bedtime!

Now don’t get me wrong, the ‘course’ was utter shite! It was battered & was just a few curves & bit of concrete in the way,

There wasn’t a windmill or a water feature in sight!

But…..it was great! Just look at our pissed faces (well mine!):

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Our final full day was spent back on the beach. This time at the far left hand side.

Lisa took a video across the ‘bay’ which gives you a good idea of what it was like – i.e. not too big or busy.

https://travelwanker.world/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Parga-Beach-Vid.mp4

Later in the afternoon we obviously went to ‘The Meeting Place‘ to get out of the sun and have a beer.

Jim & Marilyn were in there (no real surprise, it is that sort of place). They were sat inside with another couple we had met but came outside for a while to say ‘Hello’ which was nice. It was their last day also.

So for our last evening meal, we went to another highly recommended/rated restaurant – Perivoli

Another winner! & Christ on a bike! – what a lot of food!! So much in fact that we actually asked for a ‘doggy bag’ to take the leftovers away (seeing as we had a little kitchen in our room so was ideal for lunch the next day).

Something that we had done a few times this trip & worked out really well, was to book a table via Facebook.

Pretty much all of the restaurants we went to, had a Facebook page & this is linked to Messenger so just messaged them for a table for 2 at a time & in all the cases we did this, they came back after a while & confirmed it!

This place was a prime example & we got a great table.

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Well that, was pretty much it.

We were around the pool on our ‘going home’ day & had paid €30 for a late checkout (makes life SO much easier when needed & available).

The coach picked us up fine for our 1 hour trip to the airport picking up others on the way.

Parga airport is small & not highly used – in fact there were 3 flights due in that day as I recall.

What was also great was the fact that we checked in – then we fucked off over the road from the airport to a little cafe/bar place to sit in the sun & have a beer. It was all very casual.

The flight was good & we had 20 minutes or so when we were out to get a sandwich & a beer from M&S and get on our train.

We walked into our house at about midnight.

What a great little week – I feel we may do it again sometime!

Parga, Greece – A Great Week Getaway! Well Worthy Of A Return. The first thing to say is that this was a lovely location for a week's chilled getaway!

0 notes

wikiwalking · 6 years

Text

Two Friends

Mary E. Wilkins

From Harper's Bazar Vol. XX No. 26 (June 25, 1887) <http://web.archive.org/web/20151002143903/http://home.comcast.net/~WilkinsFreeman/Short/TwoFriends.htm>

“I wish you'd jest look down the road again, Mis' Dunbar, an' see if you see anything of Abby comin'.”

“I don't see a sign of her. It's a real trial for you to be so short-sighted, ain't it, Sarah?”

“I guess it is. Why, you wouldn't believe it, but I can't see anybody out in the road to tell who 'tis. I can see somethin' movin', an' that's all, unless there's somethin' peculiar about 'em that I can tell 'em by. I can always tell old Mr. Whitcomb — he's got a kind of a hitch when he walks, you know; an' Mis' Addison White always carries a parasol, an' I can tell her. I can see somethin' bobbin' overhead, an' I know who 'tis.”

“Queer, ain't it, how she always carries that parasol? Why, I've seen her with it in the dead of winter, when the sun was shinin', an' 'twas freezin' cold; no more need of a parasol —”

“She has to carry it to keep off the sun an' wind, 'cause her eyes are weak, I s'pose.”

“Why, I never knew that.”

“Abby said she told her so. Abby giggled right in her face one day when she met her with it.”

“She didn't!”

“She did — laughed right out. She said she couldn't help it nohow: you know Abby laughs terrible easy. There was Mis' White sailin' along with her parasol h'isted, she said, as fine as a fiddle. You know Mis' White always walks kind of nippin' anyhow, an' she's pretty dressy. An' then it was an awful cold, cloudy day, Abby said. The sun didn't shine, an' it didn't storm, an' there wa'n't no earthly use for a parasol anyway, that she could see. So she kind of snickered. I s'pose it struck her funny all of a sudden. Mis' White took it jest as quick, Abby said, an' told her kind of short that her eyes were terrible weak, an' she had to keep 'em shaded all the time she was outdoors; the doctor had give her orders to. Abby felt pretty streaked about it. You don't see her comin' yet, do you?”

“No, I don't. I thought I see somebody then, but it ain't her. It's the Patch boy, I guess. Yes, 'tis him. What do you think of Abby, Sarah?”

“Think of Abby! What do you mean, Mis' Dunbar?”

“Why, I mean, how do you think she is? Do you think her cough is as bad as 'twas?”

Sarah Arnold, who was a little light woman of fifty, thin-necked and round-backed, with blue protruding eyes in her tiny pale face, pursed up her mouth and went on with her work. She was sewing some red roses on to a black lace bonnet.

“I never thought her cough was very bad anyhow, as far as I was concerned,” said she, finally.

“Why, you didn't? I thought it sounded pretty bad. I've been feelin' kind of worried about her.”

“'Tain't nothin' in the world but a throat cough. Her mother before her used to cough jest the same way. It sounds kind of hard, but 'tain't the kind of cough that kills folks. Why, I cough myself half the time.”

Sarah hacked a little as she spoke.

“Old Mis' Vane died of consumption, didn't she?”

“Consumption! Jest about as much consumption as I've got. Mis' Vane died of liver complaint. I guess I know. I was livin' right in the house.”

“Well, of course you'd be likely to know. I was thinkin' that was what I'd heard, that was all.”

“Some folks did call it consumption, but it wa'n't. See anything of Abby?”

“No, I don't. You ain't worried about her, are you?”

“Worried? — no. I ain't got no reason to be worried that I know of. She's old enough to take care of herself. All is, the supper table's been settin' an hour, an' I don't see where she is. She jest went down to the store to git some coffee.”

“It's kind of damp to-night.”

“'Tain't damp enough to hurt her, I guess, well as she is.”

“Mebbe not. That's a pretty bonnet you're makin'.”

“Well, I think it's goin' to look pretty well. I didn't know as 'twould. I didn't have much to do with.”

“I s'pose it's Abby's.”

“Course it's Abby's. I guess you wouldn't see me comin' out in no such bonnet as this.”

“Why, you ain't any older than Abby, Sarah.”

“I'm different-lookin',” said Sarah, with a look which might have meant pride.

The two women were sitting on a little piazza at the side of the story-and-a-half white house.

Before the house was a small green yard with two cherry-trees in it. Then came the road, then some flat green meadow-lands where the frogs were singing. The grass on these meadows was a wet green, and there were some clumps of blue lilies which showed a long way off in it. Beyond the meadows was the southwest sky, which looked low and red and clear, and had birds in it. It was seven o'clock of a summer evening.

Mrs. Dunbar, tall and straight, with a dark, leathery face whose features were gracefully cut, sat primly in a wooden chair, which was higher than Sarah's little rocker.

“I know Abby looks well in 'most everything,” said she.

“I never saw her try on anything that she didn't look well in. There's good-lookin' women, but there ain't many like Abby. Most folks are a little dependent on their bonnets, but she wa'n't, never. Sky blue or grass green, 'twas all one; she'd look as if 'twas jest made for her. See anything of her comin'?”

Mrs. Dunbar turned her head, and her dark profile stood out in the clear air. “There's somebody comin', but I guess it ain't — Yes, 'tis, too. She's comin'.”

“I can see her,” said Sarah, joyfully, in a minute.

“Abby Vane, where have you been?” she called out.

The approaching woman looked up and laughed. “Did you think you'd lost me?” said she, as she came up the piazza step. “I went into Mis' Parson's, an' I staid longer'n I meant to. Agnes was there — she'd jest got home — an' —” She began to cough violently.

“You hadn't ought to give way to that ticklin' in your throat, Abby,” said Sarah, sharply.

“She'd better go into the house out of this damp air,” said Mrs. Dunbar.

“Land! the air won't hurt her none. But mebbe you had better come in, Abby. I want to try on this bonnet. I wish you'd come too, Mis' Dunbar. I want you to see if you think it's deep enough in the back.”

“There!” said Sarah, after the three women had entered, and she had tied the bonnet on to Abby's head, picking the bows out daintily.

“It's real handsome on her,” said Mrs. Dunbar.

“Red roses on a woman of my age!” laughed Abby. “Sarah's bound to rig me up like a young girl.”

Abby stood in the little sitting-room before the glass. The blinds were wide open to let the evening light in. Abby was a large, well-formed woman. She held her bonneted head up, and drew her chin back with an air of arch pride. The red roses bloomed meetly enough above her candid, womanly forehead.

“If you can't wear red roses, I don't know who can,” said Sarah, looking up at her with pride and resentment. “You could wear a white dress to meetin' an' look as well as any of 'em.”

“Look here, where did you git the lace for this bonnet?” asked Abby, suddenly. She had taken it off and was examining it closely.

“Oh, 'twas some I had.”

“See here, you tell the truth now, Sarah Arnold. Didn't you take this off your black silk dress?”

“It don't make no odds where I took it from.”

“You did. What made you do it?”

“'Tain't worth talkin' 'bout. I always despised it on the dress.”

“Why, Sarah Arnold! That's jest the way she does,” said Abby to Mrs. Dunbar. “If I didn't watch her, she wouldn't leave herself a thing to put on.”

After Mrs. Dunbar had gone, Abby sat down in a large covered rocking-chair and leaned her head back. Her eyes were parted a little, and her teeth showed. She looked ghastly all at once.

“What ails you?” said Sarah.

“Nothin'. I'm a little tired, that's all.”

“What are you holdin' on to your side for?”

“Oh, nothin'. It ached a little, that's all.”

“Mine's been achin' all the afternoon. I should think you'd better come out an' have somethin' to eat; the table's been settin' an hour an' a half.”

Abby rose meekly and followed Sarah into the kitchen with a sort of weak stateliness. She had always had a queenly way of walking. If Abby Vane should fall a victim to consumption some day, no one could say that she had brought it upon herself by non-observance of hygienic rules. Long miles of country road had she traversed with her fine swinging step, her shoulders thrown well back, her head erect, in her day. She had had the whole care of their vegetable garden, she had weeded and hoed and dug, she had chopped wood and raked hay, and picked apples and cherries.

There had always been a settled and amicable division of labor between the two women. Abby did the rough work, the man's work of the establishment, and Sarah, with her little, slim, nervous frame, the woman's work. All the dress-making and millinery was Sarah's department, all the cooking, all the tidying and furbishing of the house. Abby rose first in the morning and made the fire, and she pumped the water and brought the tubs for the washing. Abby carried the purse, too. The two had literally one between them — one worn black leather wallet. When they went to the village store, if Sarah made the purchase, Abby drew forth the money to pay the bill.

The house belonged to Abby; she had inherited it from her mother. Sarah had some shares in the village bank, which kept them in food and clothes.

Nearly all the new clothes bought would be for Abby, though Sarah had to employ many a subterfuge to bring it about. She alone could have unravelled the subtlety of that diplomacy by which the new cashmere was made for Abby instead of herself, by which the new mantle was fitted to Abby's full, shapely shoulders instead of her own lean, stooping ones.

If Abby had been a barbarous empress, who exacted her cook's head as a penalty for a failure, she could have found no more faithful and anxious artist than Sarah. All the homely New England recipes which Abby loved shone out to Sarah as if written in letters of gold. That nicety of adjustment through which the appetite should neither be cloyed by frequency nor tantalized by desire was a constant study with her. “I've found out just how many times a week Abby likes mince-pie,” she told Mrs. Dunbar, triumphantly, once. “I've been studyin' it out. She likes mince-pie jest about twice to really relish it. She eats it other times, but she don't really hanker after it. I've been keepin' count about six weeks now, an' I can tell pretty well.”

Sarah had not eaten her own supper to-night, so she sat down with Abby at the little square table against the kitchen wall. Abby could not eat much, though she tried. Sarah watched her, scarcely taking a mouthful herself. She had a trick of swallowing convulsively every time Abby did, whether she was eating herself or not.

“Ain't goin' to have any custard pie?” said Sarah. “Why not? I went to work an' made it on purpose.”

Abby began to laugh. “Well, I'll tell you what 'tis, Sarah,” said she, “near's I can put it: I've got jest about as much feelin' about takin' vittles as a pillow-tick has about bein' stuffed with feathers.”

“Ain't you been eatin' nothin' this afternoon?”

“Nothin' but them few cherries before I went out.”

“That was jest enough to take your appetite off. I never can taste a thing between meals without feelin' it.”

“Well, I dare say that was it. Any of them cherries in the house now?”

“Yes; there's some in the cupboard. Want some?”

“I'll git 'em.”

Sarah jumped up and got a plate of beautiful red cherries and set them on the table.

“Let me see, these came off the Sarah-tree,” said Abby, meditatively. “There wa'n't any on the Abby one this year.”

“No,” said Sarah, shortly.

“Kind of queer, wa'n't it? It's always bore, ever since I can remember.”

“I don't see nothin' very queer about it. It was frost-bit that cold spell last spring; that's all that ails it.”

“Why, the other one wa'n't.”

“This one's more exposed.”

The two round, symmetrical cherry-trees in the front yard had been called Abby and Sarah ever since the two women could remember. The fancy had originated somehow far back in their childhood, and ever since it had been the “Abby-tree” and the “Sarah-tree.” Both had borne plentifully until this season, when the Abby-tree displayed only her fine green leaves in fruit-time, and the Sarah-tree alone was rosy with cherries. Sarah had picked some that evening, standing primly on a chair under the branches, a little basket on her arm, poking her pale inquisitive face into the perennial beauties of her woody namesake. Abby had been used to picking cherries after a more vigorous fashion, with a ladder, but she had not offered to this season.

“I couldn't git many — couldn't reach nothin' but the lowest branches,” said Sarah to-night, watching Abby eat the cherries. “I guess you'd better take the ladder out there to-morrow. They're dead ripe, an' the birds are gittin' 'em. I scared off a whole flock to-day.”

“Well, I will if I can,” said Abby.

“Will if you can! Why, there ain't no reason why you can't, is there?”

“No, not that I know of.”

The next morning Abby painfully dragged the long ladder around the house to the tree, and did her appointed task. Sarah came to the door to watch her once, and Abby was coughing distressingly up amongst the green boughs.

“Don't give up to that ticklin' in your throat, for pity's sake, Abby,” she called out.

Abby's laugh floated back in answer, like a brave song, from the tree.

Presently Mrs. Dunbar came up the path; she lived alone herself, and was a constant visitor. She stood under the tree, tall and lank and vigorous in her straight-skirted brown cotton gown.

“For the land sake, Abby! you don't mean to say you're pickin' cherries?” she called out. “Are you crazy?”

“Hush!” whispered Abby, between the leaves.

“I don't see why she's crazy,” spoke up Sarah; “she always picks 'em.”

“You don't catch me givin' up pickin' cherries till I'm a hundred,” said Abby, loudly. “I'm a regular cherry bird.”

Sarah went into the house soon, and directly Abby crawled down the ladder. She was dripping with perspiration, and trembling.

“Abby Vane, I'm all out of patience,” said Mrs. Dunbar.

Abby sank down on the ground. “It's this cherry bird's last season,” said she, with a pathetic twinkle in her eyes.

“There ain't no sense in your doin' so.”

“Well, I've picked enough for a while, I guess.”

“Give me that other basket,” said Mrs. Dunbar, harshly, “an' I'll go up an' pick.”

“You can pick some for yourself,” coughed Abby.

“I don't like 'em,” said Mrs. Dunbar, jerking herself up the ladder. “Git up off the ground, an' go in.”

Abby obeyed without further words. She sat down in the sitting-room rocker, and leaned her head back. Sarah was stepping about in the kitchen, and did not come in, and she was glad.

In the course of a few months this old-fashioned chair, with its green cushion, held Abby from morning till night. She did not go out any more. She had kept about as long as she could. Every summer Sunday she had sat smartly beside Sarah in church, with those brave red roses on her head. But when the cold weather came her enemy's arrows were too sharp even for her strong mail of love and resolution.

Sarah's behavior seemed inexplicable. Even now that Abby was undeniably helpless, she was constantly goading her to her old tasks. She refused to admit that she was ill. She rebelled when the doctor was called. “No more need of a doctor than nothin' at all,” she said.

Affairs went on so till the middle of the winter. Abby grew weaker and weaker, but Sarah seemed to ignore it. One day she went over to Mrs. Dunbar's. One of the other neighbors was sitting with Abby. Sarah walked in suddenly. The outer door opened directly in Mrs. Dunbar's living-room, and a whiff of icy air came in with her.

“How's Abby?” asked Mrs. Dunbar.

“'Bout the same.” Sarah stood upright, staring. She had a blue plaid shawl over her head, and she clutched it together with her red bony fingers. “I've got something on my mind,” said she, “an' I've got to tell somebody. I'm goin' crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Abby's goin' to die, an' I've got something on my mind. I 'ain't treated her right.”

“Sarah Arnold, do, for pity's sake, sit down, an' keep calm!”

“I'm calm enough. Oh, what shall I do?”

Mrs. Dunbar forced Sarah into a chair, and took her shawl. “You mustn't feel so,” said she. “You've been just devoted to Abby all your life, an' everybody knows it. I know when folks die we're very apt to feel as if we hadn't done right by 'em, but there ain't no sense in your feelin' so.”

“I know what I'm talkin' about. I've got something awful on my mind. I've got to tell somebody.”

“Sarah Arnold, what do you mean?”

“I've got to tell.”

There was a puzzled look on the other woman's thin, strong face. “Well, if you've got anything you want to tell, you can tell it, but I can't think what you're drivin' at.”

Sarah fixed her eyes on the wall at the right of Mrs. Dunbar. “It begins 'way back when we was girls. You know I went to live with Abby an' her mother after my folks died. Abby an' me had always been together. You remember that John Marshall that used to keep store where Simmons is, about thirty year ago. When Abby was about twenty, he begun waitin' on her. He was a good-lookin' fellar, an' I guess he was smart, though I never took a fancy to him.

“He was crazy after Abby; but her mother didn't like him. She talked again' him from the very first of it, and wouldn't take no notice of him. She declared she shouldn't have him. Abby didn't say much. She'd laugh an' tell her mother not to fret, but she'd treat him pretty well when he came.

“I s'pose she liked him. I used to watch her, an' think she did. An' he kep' comin' an' comin'. All the fellars were crazy 'bout her anyhow. She was the handsomest girl that was ever seen, about. She'd laugh an' talk with all of 'em, but I s'pose Marshall was the one.

“Well, finally Mis' Vane made such a fuss that he stopped comin'. 'Twas along about a year before she died. I never knew, but I s'pose Abby told him. He went right off to Mexico. Abby didn't say a word, but I knew she felt bad. She didn't seem to care much about goin' into company, an' didn't act jest like herself.

“Well, old Mis' Vane died sudden, you know. She'd had the consumption for years, coughed ever since I could remember, but she went real quick at last, an' Abby was away. She'd gone over to her Aunt Abby's in Colebrook to stay a couple of days. Her aunt wa'n't well neither, an' wanted to see her, an' her mother seemed comfortable, so she thought she could go. We sent for her jest as soon as Mis' Vane was took worse, but she couldn't git home in time.

“So I was with Mis' Vane when she died. She had her senses, and she left word for Abby. She said to tell her she'd give her consent to her marryin' John Marshall.”

Sarah stopped. Mrs. Dunbar waited, staring.

“I 'ain't told her from that day to this.”

“What!”

“I 'ain't never told what her mother said.”

“Why, Sarah Arnold, why not?”

“Oh, I couldn't have it nohow — I couldn't — I couldn't, Mis' Dunbar. Seemed as if it would kill me to think of it. I couldn't have her likin' anybody else, an' gittin' married. You don't know what I'd been through. All my own folks had died before I was sixteen years old, an' Mis' Vane was gone, an' she'd been jest like a mother to me. I didn't have nobody in the world but Abby. I couldn't have it so — I couldn't — I couldn't.”

“Sarah Arnold, you've been livin' with her all these years, an' been such friends, an' had this shut up in your mind. What are you made of?”

“Oh, I've done everything I could for Abby — everything.”

“You couldn't make it up to her in such a way as that.”

“She 'ain't seemed as if she fretted much, she 'ain't.”

“You can't tell nothin' by that.”

“I know it. Oh, Mis' Dunbar, have I got to tell her? Have I?”

Mrs. Dunbar, with her intent, ascetic face, confronted Sarah like an embodied conscience.

“Tell her? Sarah Arnold, don't you let another sun go down over your head before you tell her.”

“Oh, it don't seem as if I could.”

“Don't you wait another minute. You go right home now an' tell her, if you ever want any more peace in this world.”

Sarah stood gazing at her a minute, trembling. Then she pulled her shawl up over her head and turned toward the door.

“Well, I'll see,” said she.

“Don't you wait a minute!” Mrs. Dunbar called after her again. Then she stood watching the lean, pitiful figure slink down the street. She wondered a good many times afterward if Sarah had told; she suspected that she had not.

Sarah avoided her, and never alluded to the matter again. She fell back on her old philosophy. “'Tain't nothin' but Abby's goin' to git over,” she told people. “'Tain't on her lungs. She'll git up as soon as it comes warmer weather.”

She treated Abby now with the greatest tenderness. She toiled for her day and night. Every delicacy which the sick woman had ever fancied stood waiting on the pantry shelves. Sarah went without shoes and flannels to purchase them, though the chance that they would be tasted was small.

Every spare moment which she could get she sewed for Abby, and folded and hung away new garments which would never be worn. If Abby ventured to remonstrate, Sarah was indignant, and sewed the more; sitting up through long winter nights, she stitched and hemmed with fierce zeal. She ransacked her own wardrobe for material, and hardly left herself a whole article to wear.

Toward spring, when her little dividends came in, she bought stuff for a new dress for Abby — soft cashmere of a beautiful blue. She got patterns, and cut and fitted and pleated with the best of her poor country skill.

“There,” said she, when it was completed, “you've got a decent dress to put on, Abby, when you get out again.”

“It's real handsome, Sarah,” said Abby, smiling.

Abby did not die till the last of May. She sat in her chair by the window, and watched feebly the young grass springing up and the green film spreading over the tree boughs. Way over across in a neighbor's garden was a little peach-tree. Abby could just see it.

“Jest see that peach-tree over there,” she whispered to Sarah one evening. It was all rosy with bloom. “It's the first tree I've seen blowed out this year. S'pose the Abby-tree's goin' to blossom?”

“I guess so,” said Sarah; “it's leavin' out.”

Abby seemed to dwell on the blossoming of the Abby-tree. She kept talking about it. One morning she saw some cherry-trees in the next yard had blossomed, and she called Sarah eagerly.

“Sarah, have you looked to see if the Abby-tree's blossomed?”

“Of course it has. What's to hender?”

Abby's face was radiant. “Oh, Sarah, I want to see it.”

“Well, you wait till afternoon,” said Sarah, with a tremble in her voice. “I'll draw you round to the front-room door after dinner, an' you can look through at it.”

People passing that morning stared to see Sarah Arnold doing some curious work in the front yard. Not one blossom was there on the Abby-tree, but the Sarah-tree was white. It's delicate garlanded boughs stirred softly, and gave out a sweet smell. Bees murmured through them. Sarah had a ladder plunged into the roadward side of all this bloom and sweetness, and she was sawing and hacking at the white boughs. Then she would stagger across to the other tree with her arms full of them. They trailed on the green turf, they lay over her shoulders like white bayonets. All the air around her was full of flying petals. She looked like some homely Spring Angel. Then she bound these fair branches and twigs into the houseward side of the Abby-tree. She worked hard and fast. That afternoon one looking at the tree from the house would have been misled. That side of the Abby-tree was brave with bloom.

Sarah drew Abby in her chair a little way into the front room. “There!” said she.

“Oh! ain't it beautiful?” cried Abby.

The white branches waved before the window. Abby sat looking at it with a peaceful smile on her face.

When she was back in her old place in the sitting-room, she gave a bright look up at Sarah.

“It ain't any use to worry,” said she, “the Abby-tree is bound to blossom.”

Sarah cried out suddenly, “Oh, Abby! Abby! Abby! what shall I do! oh, what shall I do!” She flung herself down by Abby's chair, and put her face on her thin knees. “Oh, Abby! Abby!”

“Why, Sarah, you mustn't,” said Abby.

“I ain't goin' to,” said Sarah, in a minute. She stood up, and wiped her eyes. “I know you're better, Abby, an' you'll be out pretty soon. All is, you've been sick pretty long, an' it's kind of wore on me, an' it come over me all of a sudden.”

“Sarah,” said Abby, solemnly, “what's got to come has got to. You've got to look at things reasonable. There's two of us, an' one would have to go before the other one; we've always known it. It ain't goin' to be so bad as you think. Mis' Dunbar is comin' here to live with you. I've got it all fixed with her. She's real strong, an' she can make up the fires, an' git the water an' the tubs. You're fifty years old, an' you're goin' to have some more years to live. But it's just goin' to be gittin' up one day after another an' goin' to bed at night, an' they'll be gone. It can be got through with. There's roads trod out through everything, an' there's folks ahead with lanterns, as it were. You —”

“Oh, Abby! Abby! stop!” Sarah broke in. “If you knew all there was to it. You don't know — you don't know! I 'ain't treated you right, Abby, I 'ain't. I've been keepin' something from you.”

“What have you been keepin', Sarah?”

Then Abby listened. Sarah told. There had always been an arch curve to Abby's handsome mouth — a look of sweet amusement at life. It showed forth plainly toward the close of Sarah's tale. Then it deepened suddenly. The poor sick woman laughed out, with a charming, gleeful ring.

A look of joyful wonder flashed over Sarah's despairing face. She stood staring.

“Sarah,” said Abby, “I wouldn't have had John Marshall if he'd come on his knees after me all the way from Mexico!”

#mary e. wilkins #mary e. wilkins freeman #two friends #web archive #short story #abby and sarah #lesbian #abby-tree #sarah-tree

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krissysbookshelf · 7 years

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Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: Wicked Like a Wildfire by Lana Popovic!

All the women in Iris and Malina's family have the unique magical ability or "gleam" to manipulate beauty. Iris sees flowers as fractals and turns her kaleidoscope visions into glasswork, while Malina interprets moods as music. But their mother has strict rules to keep their gifts a secret. Iris and Malina are not allowed to share their magic with anyone, and above all, they are forbidden from falling in love. But when their mother is mysteriously attacked, the sisters discover a wicked curse that haunts their family line.

LEARN MORE

ONE Cattaro, Montenegro

MY SISTER AND I WERE BORN ALL TANGLED UP together, both tiny enough that our unruly descent just narrowly missed killing our mother. I liked to think there would have been a fair bit of screaming on Mama’s part in the ruckus that followed, but that’s just my wicked fancy. Maybe she was stoic and flawless as ever, Snow White giving birth under glass. Either way, tending to her, no one spared the time to note which of us had arrived first. And so although we weren’t identical, by sheer bloody technicality we were always the same age, neither a minute older nor younger than each other.

Mama kept us in a single cradle, one that ÄŒiÄa Jovan had carved for her from cherrywood before we were born. It was a whimsical thing fit for changeling children, wrought with mermaids trapped in ivy, open seashells with tiny apples growing in them instead of salty flesh. Sometimes I wondered if I’d have liked my own cradle as much as I would have liked having my own room once we were older. But Malina still liked to fall asleep by matching her breathing to mine, rubbing her feet together like a grasshopper.

The only real bedtime story Mama ever told us traced back to those early days, when we were both so little the tops of our skulls hadn’t yet hardened into something that could withstand the world. The mother I knew might have been tempted by that fragility, the urge to press her thumbs into such yielding clay. To see what marks she could make.

She must have been so different, then.

Instead, when we were old enough for our pale eyes to focus, she brought an assortment of offerings on a milky sea-glass platter. From it, she plucked tiny slivers of fruit and brushed them over our lips, one by one. Apple, mango, strawberry, papaya, prickly pear, some so exotic she could only have gotten them from the cruise ships that docked in the bay, rather than the open-air market outside the Old Town walls. Each was at its peak, the perfect moment of ripeness before turning. Then she passed violet petals beneath our noses, followed by jasmine, orchid, and peony; small lumps of ambergris; splinters of oud wood and sandalwood and myrrh.

Waiting to see which would bring forth the gleam, the magic that ran through our blood.

For me, it was the hibiscus flower, the petal red and fleshy as our mother trailed it over the tip of my nose, before she let me gum it to release its tart flavor. For Malina, it was a gleaming, perfect cherry, which Mama crushed into a paste that she let my sister suck from her ring finger.

It was bad luck to name a daughter after the thing that first sparked the gleam, Mama said. So I was Iris, for a flower that wasn’t hibiscus, and my sister was Malina, for a raspberry. They were placeholder names that didn’t pin down our true nature, so nothing would ever be able to summon us. No demon or vila would ever reel us in by our real names.

Even caught up in the story, Mama could never quite explain what the gleam looked like once she found it. Maybe our cloudy baby eyes cleared, like a sky swept by a driving wind. Maybe our tiny hands clenched fistfuls of air, seeking the tools that we’d use to capture the gleam once we were older. She never said.

Listening to her tell it, I could have sworn that she’d loved the needy little creatures Malina and I had been. Even if the whole thing was just a story—who rubs flowers and fruit and whale vomit on babies, anyway? What if one of us had been allergic?—it was still beautifully spun. There was love in its very fabric.

Then again, all that was seventeen years ago. These days, had someone asked me if our mother loved us, any “yes” would have caught in my throat like a fish bone. And had someone asked me if I loved my mother, I thought I knew what I would say.

But then she died without dying, and I didn’t know anything at all.

THAT WHOLE WEEK felt like a gathering storm. It was only the end of May, but already so stifling that just the effort of breathing made you mutinous. Malina and I worked split shifts at CafÃ© TadiÄ‡ since school had let out for the summer, and that Tuesday I’d drawn the early straw, which I usually preferred. On my way out at six a.m., I’d see the sunrise over the mountains that Cattaro huddled against, the sky glowing like a forge before the craggy peaks above us lit with the first slice of the sun.

It reminded me of what my world had once looked like, brilliant and blazing and alive from every angle, back when I could make almost anything bloom.

But the sky was still a barely blushing dark as I trailed the side of our tiny house just before five, wincing as the courtyard pebbles dug into my soles. I’d taken my flip-flops off to minimize crunching in the predawn hush. Mama would already be at the cafÃ©—she’d been asleep long before I snuck out the night before—but Mrs. PetroviÄ‡ next door was a nasty, busybody hag who could have been a KGB spy in another life, or possibly this one. Ratting me out to Mama made her downright gleeful, pointless as it was. Mama knew perfectly well she couldn’t keep me inside when I wanted out. I only bothered with the skulking to avoid the fights—“What kind of mother do you make me look like, sneaking out like a thief in the night?”—and even that was mostly for Malina. She couldn’t stand the sound of our mother’s rage battering against mine.

I was still bobbing along on some mixture of high and tipsy as I hauled myself onto our window ledge and swung my legs over, the contentment lingering round and compact in my belly like a sunwarmed egg. That wouldn’t last. Soon, it would crack into a slimy nausea, just in time for my arrival at the cafÃ©.

A faint rumble of triumph echoed through me. Along with most everything else that I did, Jasmina the Peerless hated it when I came to work hungover. And this morning I wouldn’t even have time to wash the alcohol fumes from my skin and hair. A small—and smelly—victory, but I’d learned to take them as they came.

Malina was still sound asleep as I gingerly dropped both feet onto our splintered hardwood floor, toe to heel, bending over to deposit my flip-flops beside them. My stomach lurched; maybe that rumble hadn’t been all triumph. I leaned my butt back against the sill, breathing deeply to settle my insides. We kept our window flung wide open in the summer, and the slight breeze stirred the multicolored Japanese parasols fanned out across our ceiling, stripped of their handles and overlapping one another.

This was one of my projects from years ago, before I graduated to proper glassblowing under ÄŒiÄa Jovan’s watchful eye. When my gleam began to wane, Mama had presented me with a consolation prize, an article about American artist Dale Chihuly’s largest installation: the Fiori di Como, a garden of glass flowers blossoming on the ceiling of the grandest hotel in Las Vegas. Its steel armature alone weighed ten thousand pounds; it had to, to support the forty thousand pounds of glass that clung to it. It was the biggest glass sculpture in the world.

I had painted the parasols with a painstaking, delicate rendering of the wisteria flower tunnel in Kitakyushu, Japan, gridding out the slim ribbing of the tunnel’s truss to create the optical illusion of dimensionality—so that whenever Malina and I looked up, it would feel like we stood in the Kawachi Fuji Garden, beneath a pink-and-violet, pastel rain of dripping wisteria. Mama hated it. She didn’t have to say so, but I’d seen the tightening in the small muscles of her face so many times when she came in to fetch one of us and couldn’t keep herself from looking up into the shower of flowers I had painted for Malina and me.

Maybe her distaste made me love it just that much more; I wouldn’t have put that past me. But that was a fringe benefit, far beside the point. What I really loved was looking up and knowing that a place existed for me somewhere far away from here. A place that belonged to me at least in half.

But this morning, the sight of the paper petals gave me a flutter of unease. Passed out on Nevena’s couch last night, I’d dreamed of flowers, fields of black roses that glistened wet beneath a sky hovering on the brink of storm. Each time I woke it had been gasping and sweaty, heart stuttering in my chest until the alcohol and weed dragged me back down. I hardly ever remembered my dreams, but I could still nearly smell those dark roses, taste the slippery dew on the petals as I tore them off their stems and placed them on my tongue.

Shaking off the sudden chill, I tripped over one of Malina’s strappy sandals and banged into our vanity table, cursing under my breath as our perfumes rattled. Our room was so tiny that we could reach out and bridge the gap with touched palms when we sat on the edge of our beds. On cue, Malina flung herself over from her stomach to her back, like a breaching dolphin. She draped an arm over her face and mumbled thickly. I caught a drawn-out “Riss,” followed by what sounded suspiciously like “calzone.”

“Oh, I think not, milady,” I told her. “Fetch your own lunch. You don’t have to be at the cafÃ© until one anyway, so just grab a sandwich on the way or something and we can have calzones from the Bastion for dinner, if you like.”

She gave a disgruntled groan and rolled back over to face the wall. I shrugged and turned to our tarnished mirror. My black tank top from last night was at least three years old and too small, embossed with a pair of glossy red lips pursed around a sequined skull. With my low-slung denim cutoffs, it showed the canvas of lower belly pinned between my hip bones—and if there was one thing Mama couldn’t stand, it was an unseemly amount of daughterflesh on display. My hair was too straight to tangle, but the eyeliner had smeared nicely in my sleep. The overall effect was a little like something wary, pale-eyed, and possibly bitey peering out from the overhang of a cave.

Perfect. Degenerate chic, at your service.

Before I slipped out, I darted over to kiss Lina’s sleep-mussed temple. Her black curls—so dark they seemed nearly blue in certain light, but with the most surprising sable undertone where the sun caught their depths—were bird’s-nest tangled, and she smelled warm and sleepy, Dove soap and the lingering patchouli that was the base of her favorite homemade perfume. Beneath it, I could smell her skin, and my stomach bucked with love. For a moment I had a pang of powerful longing, like a gong rung inside my belly, for the nights when we had slept cuddled together, our sweet baby breath whispering over each other’s faces.

Lina stirred, scrunching up her face like a little girl. “Riss,” she mumbled, “is there a reason you’re sniffing me like a truffle pig?”

I dropped down onto my own bed as she propped herself up on her elbows, yawning hugely. “Maybe I just relish the scent of sister in the morning.”

“That sounds purely wrong.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can’t say I reciprocate, either. What were you doing at Nevena’s, anyway, bobbing for apples in a tub of rakija? I don’t know how you stand that stuff; you’d think they could make apricot brandy taste better than rat poison mixed with cheap perfume. Who else was there?”

“That is for us, the cool and popular, to know, and you to find out.” I grimaced. “Or more like the cool and the popular and yours truly, Nev’s impostor tagalong. No one else much worth talking to, really. But you should still come out with me sometime. Get all wild and free and such, for once.”

She gave me a sleepy half smile, a glossy black curl sliding over her rounded cheek. My sister had the sweetest face, a gentler rendering of our mother’s that drew from our father mostly in the slight slant of her gray eyes. Her full lower lip was cleft like a cherry, and it made all that beauty somehow both playful and kind. You could easily see the shared blood between us, and maybe on the surface, you might even mistake us for the same substance.

But like water and alcohol, the resemblance ended there.

“Maybe I like staying home?” she said. “Maybe I have better things to do with my nights than tag along to your spite parties?” It always got under my skin when Lina talked in questions; she’d picked it up from years of playing ambassador between me and Mama.

“Oh, like maybe walking on eggshells around Jasmina the Peerless while she plans the next day’s menu and ignores you?” I mimicked. “And I don’t go out just to spite her, you know. Not everything I do is about her.”

“Seems like it is, these days,” Lina said quietly. She dropped her eyes, black lashes fanning lush against her cheeks, her fingers twisting into the sheets. Her hands were the unloveliest part of her, wide palms and spidery violinist’s fingers with cuticles run ragged from her nervous nibbling. My own had gathered a respectable collection of burns and nicks from glassblowing and working at the cafÃ©, but they were still fine-boned and pretty, the nailbeds slim. I won when it came to hands. At least there was that.

“A little easy for you to say, isn’t it? You can still sing like you used to, back when she still let us practice with her.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice, like one of Mama’s orange rinds before she candied them. “I can’t make anything bloom other than flowers anymore, and even then only I can see it.”

Except for when I drink just enough, I didn’t add. Or smoked so much that my thoughts sparked around each other like a school of minnows, slippery and silver, impossible to grasp.

You can sing like you always could, and still she doesn’t even hate you.

“I’m sorry,” Lina whispered, struggling to meet my eyes. I knew she could feel the roil of my emotions, that it chafed her not to sing it back at me or soothe me, but sometimes I couldn’t curb myself just to ease her. “I know that’s hard for you. But maybe it’s better this way? I can sing, but that’s all it is—weird, maybe, but just _song_. There’s nothing for anyone to see. But you, it used to be like New Year’s Eve when you made things bloom. And you know we can’t be all flash and glitter like that. It’s not safe for any of us.”

I clenched my teeth until my jaw burned. Safety was Mama’s eternal refrain. It was why we’d only eaten the moon together at nighttime in the tiny garden behind our house, hidden by the trellis of creeping roses and oleander, back when Lina and I were little. “Only in the dark, cvetiÄ‡u, and only with each other,” Mama would whisper in my ear, holding my hands in her strong grip as I bloomed the starlight dappling through the canopy of leaves above. “That’s the only place we’re safe.”

I couldn’t remember the last time our mother had called me “little flower,” or touched me with such tenderness. As if I had grown into a cactus instead of something softer, and she didn’t want to risk my spines.

“The townsfolk with the pitchforks, I know,” I said. “Lovers and neighbors and friends, all turning to burn the witches. But don’t you wonder sometimes if it’s worth it, giving up so much? When we still have to keep folding ourselves so small all the time?”

Lina looked away, a soft flush rising on her pale skin. “Of course it’s worth it,” she murmured. “Beauty’s worth it even in the smallest scale. You have your glass, I have my violin. It’s enough, like Mama always said.”

Yet even as she said it, she began humming under her breath. The back of my neck prickled, and a wash of goose bumps spread down my arms. Even after all these years, hearing Lina harmonize with herself always gave me chills, the way it sounded like three voices in one. This melody was subtle, three layers of a bittersweet arpeggio that split and reflected my emotions like a prism: the anger, the loss, and the biting sense of injustice, along with a gentle apologetic undertow that was her own offering.

There was another hue to it, too, a tinge of guilt that didn’t feel like mine. Even as the song melted my annoyance with her like spun sugar in water, I frowned, trying to place it.

She caught herself abruptly and cut off the melody.

“Sorry,” she said, clenching both hands in her lap until her knuckles turned white. “I know you hate it when I do that. Do you—will you be going to the square after your shift today? If Nevena stays longer at the cafÃ©, I could leave early and bring my violin, come keep you company?”

Coming from Lina, this was a fairly high-level peace offering. I sold my glasswork figurines to tourists in the Old Town’s Arms Square, and Malina’s singing and playing always meant I’d sell more that day. It made customers pliant, more willing to part with their money for a pretty piece of glass. Mama had no idea we ever did it, of course. And if it felt a little swindly to sway people like that, it only added to my thrill. Lina had never liked that part of it as much as I did, even if she was only making it easier for people to do what they already wanted. It baffled me how much this bothered her; what was the point of power at all, if she shrank back from it anytime it caught and flared?

Especially when hers still gleamed so brightly while mine guttered by the day.

“I thought you had a violin lesson with Natalija this afternoon.”

“I can cancel that, if you want. I already saw her earlier this week.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said curtly, stepping back into my flip-flops. “I only have a few pieces left from the last batch, anyway. Not enough to show.”

She sighed behind me. “Riss—”

“I’ll see you later.”

I could feel her eyes heavy on my back as I left.

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