Vesta

yeesh, i haven't posted in forever, have i?
okay...not so forever ago...it just feels like a long time since i've posted anything of much interest on here...
maybe it's just me... anyway, this is part of a story i thought about but haven't actually gotten around to writing. dunno if i'll ever write it... anyway, here it is

The birds sang loud and cheerily on a warm, cheery sort of day. Preparations were in order, and people surged about excitedly. Well, mostly excitedly. It was only an arranged marriage, after all.

Vesta sat quietly, in her bedroom, dressed and currently being fussed over by a few of the older women. Her face was a mask of nothingness, a docile young woman, so it seemed. But within, her heart quaked in fear; her mind raced, and she fought every second the tears that threatened to flood. Why me? Of course, she spoke no words aloud, for the women would only scold her. No, she could say nothing, do nothing, save for what they told her to do. And they told her to go through this marriage ceremony, and be wed to a person she didn’t even know.

She bit the inside of her cheek to force away the new surge of tears that attempted to coax their way out. This isn’t fair! How can two families decide the fate of their children so easily, without even caring what the children think? She wished that the women would leave her alone; she didn’t know how much longer she could keep from crying.

In the back of her mind, she wondered how Telem felt about this. Maybe he didn’t care; maybe he wanted to be married; or maybe…he was afraid, like her. Afraid, yet concealing fear with false compliance, like her.

But then, it’s not as if they could refuse, for their parents had already given them over in the arrangement ceremony, ten years prior to this day. Soon, now, the time for the ceremony would come, and the dance of binding after that, and all would be lost.

What could she do? Was she so desperate to beg, or plead to a god? But what god would give her any assistance? The only gods she knew of were made of clay and stone, and sat on mantles and beside doorways.

Except for…what was the name of that God, which that traveling priest served? A…living God, he called it. Elos Harana. The priest said that Elos was a good God, that he loved his people.

“I am ready.” This sudden declaration caused the fluttering women to pause, glancing at her. Vesta looked at the oldest of them and nodded. This was the only way to get rid of them. Eora, the older woman, ushered the rest out, as they murmured small meaningless things. Eora glanced back at her. “It won’t take long. We will be back soon.” Vesta nodded, and Eora left.

A single trembling tear escaped her eye, and Vesta took a shaky breath, trying to calm her nerves. Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head and placed her palms together, imitating that traveling priest in prayer to his God. She must hurry, for the ceremony was under way. Soon they would come for her. Soon her last chance of escape would be gone.

“Elos Harana, I pray to thee this day, and beg of thee that thou wouldst intervene in this ceremony. I…” here she ran out of formal words, yet her heart prompted her on. “I’m so afraid, Elos. I do not want to do this. Please, please stop it somehow. I beg of you.” With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet again. The prayer, though she did not understand fully, brought her some comfort, that she had someone to share her heart with.

Wiping away the trace of tears on her face, she stepped through her doorway and into the main room. They will surely come soon.

Why is the door so far away? She blinked, and it was where it always was, in the wall. The air inside felt hot and damp, like a dog’s fur after it has been hunting. That was to be expected; that’s what they get for deciding on this the hottest day of the summer to have the ceremony.

But it was late autumn. It’s so warm… The breath within her caught in her throat, cloyingly sticky and hot. She could not breathe now; the dress, a simple gown and cloak, was tightening around her, like a great snake. The collar, which dipped to the hollow of her neck, seemed to come up around her throat and squeeze like a hand, stealing her breath.

Gasping, she collapsed into a nearby chair. A great ringing sound came to her ears. At long last, they have come for me. Yet the sound of ceremony bells did not fill her head. It was a buzzing, high pitched and loud, so that she could not think. Her mind pounded at the sound, throbbing with every heartbeat.

And now she could feel each and every heartbeat within her. The blood, rushing through her every vein; she could feel it. Why is the room spinning? I wish it would stop… Her eyes darted around, trying to make sense of the scene before her. The room danced around in the binding ceremony. Why is the room dancing with me?

A chill ran down her spine. Her skin was clammy and cold, but it felt as if she were burning up. The air was thick; she could not breathe. Her vision was going dark on the edges, like in a dream. Ah, if only it were a dream.

The darkness at the edge of her vision stretched, becoming a blanket of warmth that enveloped her, blocking the sight of the spinning room, covering up her fear, and taking her far from the cruel reality.

Quiet again…oh so quiet…

A last quiver raced through her as her limp form slipped from the chair and collapsed onto the floor. At that very moment, the door opened, and Telem entered with the sound of the ceremony bells. At the sight of his collapsed bride-to-be, he froze. The bells halted. Voices paused where they were, and the people crowded around the doorway, trying to see what had halted the procession.

A shriek came from Vesta’s mother and a cry for “Doctor!” from her father. Telem still stood, frozen in shock. Vesta’s father picked her up and placed her on the long couch, as the doctor gently but urgently pushed through the crowds.

Telem shook. None of this seemed real; since the day began, he had been walking in a dreamlike fog. Perhaps more nightmare than dream.

Now this sudden reversal of events, and he didn’t know what to think. It’s not as if he was completely opposed to the marriage; they had met several times and knew about each other. He thought her quite pretty, and she seemed kind. Yet he knew nothing else of her; how could they be wed like that?

He only questioned his father on this matter once. Never again after being told to his face that he was a fool, a rebel.

His mind was void of anything in that first moment. The next, his mind was stampeded with fragmented ideas, an unconcerned bundle of everything. His second cohesive thought was this: Why did it have to happen like this?

The Edge of Sight

At the very moment before your eyes close to blink…At the very edge of your vision…At the very instant before sleep overtakes your weary mind…At the very instant between sleep and wakefulness…

What do you see?

That point, where sight is not so faithful, I can see things. They are not clear or very discernable. But if I sit very still, and blink slowly, my mind catches sight of something far different than the world before my eyes.

So have I done for days upon end, only stopping to sleep and eat, and those I did carefully so as to refrain from disturbing whatever lurked at vision’s edge. People thought me slow, or mad, but these remarks meant nothing compared to what I might find if I only wait.

Years passed, and I waited for sight to work slightly better, or perhaps slightly worse. And finally, when I was old and feeble, my wish was granted. At the very instant my sight failed me completely, I could see it all. No longer did it lurk at the edge of sight, impossible to see directly, nor did it lurk at the edge of sleep and wakefulness. I saw it fully.

The world is not always as it seems.