They would call her the villainess of the story.
The traitor, the con artist, the betrayer.
The blade scraped across the dingy cobblestones that outlined the road, lifting a harmonious, disassociate tune. Or was it her, dragging herself by? The soft jangle of her chains accompanied the piece.
Maybe a whole legend would arise around her infamous leave from this sacred town.
The shutters were closed, and the homes that bloomed from these stone tiles showed no welcome behind its buckled doors. Yet warmth glinted off the roofs and burst from their little hidden crevices, lawns littered with flowers and bumbling bees. The sky was a blur or dusk and dawn.
Was the sun peeking or slumbering? No matter, the town was coming alive with its antique glow.
She walked.
She walked over the tiled hills, past the shuttered homes and softly lit lamp posts. Really, she could have convinced herself that the neighborhood itself was the one who strolled by, in its lousy taverns with beer spilling from its sides, the dressmakers’ shop tight and tidy with its rolls of silk, the musician’s fountain, drab without its typical tune.
She decided to stop with the dramatics. They had never wanted her anyway.
Out of the forest of wooden towers and spiraling roads, the rolling hills shifted under the lazy sun, lapping into green waves onto the cobblestone shore, pulling at her leather feet and weaving through the flimsy fabric. She drew the sword out of its reverberant song and held it close to her face.
It reflected only a fraction of her identity. Who are you? But the girl in the sword was silent, only her pursed lips and harrow eyes looking back.
They promised a home to her once.
The sun loomed over the crescent hills. Perhaps it was sunrise. She lifted the blade higher into the arms of the sky, the sunlight refracting from its metallic glow. She squinted.
She would not turn.
She refused to look.
But she did.
And in those cottages were homes, and in the dressmakers shop she delved into the magics of friendships, the musician who had taught her the stories of musical notes, the jostling laughter that lightened up the drab tavern, the people.
The sun was brighter now. It cast its golden breath over the sleeping town. She promised she would keep these friends, stay with them, grow with them. She promised herself to this town, to this love.
Boards rustled and creaked. They danced and teased her as her arm shook under the weight of the sun. Wind wrapped around her and pulled stray pieces of hair towards the unfolding city. She smiled, releasing a soft laugh.
They said to never go to the top of the hill, the edge of town.
She promised that too, to never look. And she had forbidden herself to ask why.
But she didn’t need their answers now. Peering down the twisting roads, the town was nothing more than a mere alleyway with a flicking light that illuminated the idea of safety. She saw the lingering, foreboding shadows that climbed on the cottage walls. It was the shadows turn to peek out of the corners.
She had to admit, it still looked beautiful. She knew if waited just an hour longer, she would be promised a glistening town, and open smiles. It would be beautiful, she would feel so incredibly beautiful. She’d smile and laugh and dance and sing and nod to strangers.
But it didn’t diminish the shadows, nor would it ever.
She promised herself to these people. She promised herself. Her whole being, wrapped up in a verbal seal.
How quaint.
But maybe they’d twist the story to show she had kept her promise in some part. She dropped the sword. An identity enclosed in a silver blade.
But really, who cares? In every tale, only the speaker decides the wicked and the pure.
This town would be her shadow, she knew. She would make it that way. Even if it meant she were to leave some of herself behind. She would be the speaker of this story.
Her feet shifted over the rusting stones and onto the moving meadows.
She had also promised herself a home with kindness. Warmth cupped her face while her palms held nothing but freedom.
She promised herself happiness.
So she would live in this shadow no longer. The sun was in front of her.
– Janet