A Flame in the Shadows
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Sat Dec 28, 2013 4:39 am
“Time to wake up dear.”

Lyrica groaned at the sunlight streaming through her windows, throwing an arm over her face in a feeble attempt to block the rays from sight. Now that she was partially awake, however, there was little chance that she’d be falling asleep again any time soon. Groaning yet again she forced herself to sit up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and swinging her feet out from under the bedding and onto the cool wood of the floor. As she began to fully come to her senses, she realized that she was covered in sweat. Pulling at her thin chemise, she cringed as the wet fabric clung to her skin. Heading straight for the bathing room she rid herself of the wet gown and stepped into the basin, closing her eyes before dunking her entire self in the warm water.

She hummed as she washed, working the sweet smelling tallow into her skin and loving every minute of it. If only baths could last forever. Once the cleansing potion was rinsed from her hair and the long tresses looked and felt like silk, Lyrica reluctantly stepped out of the water and wrapped herself in the oversized, overly plush, wool robe that she always used after bathing. Finally ready for her day to begin, she headed to her room and started digging through her chests of clothes until she found something she wanted to wear. The outfit of choice today was a dress the color of fresh cream that faded into a soft sage color at the hem. A twisting trail of leaves was embroidered in gold throughout the green. Throwing on a pair of soft leather boots and a light shift she stood and took in a breath. With a moment’s pause in front of her reflection in the mirror, she decided to pull a lock of hair up and to the side; pinning it with a small comb that had belonged to her mother. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back, falling into thick but delicate curls just above the floor. Turning from the mirror, a rare treasure left to her by her father, Lyrica walked over to her writing table and pulled out an old writing set from the drawer underneath it. The parchment felt cool to her touch and the quill and ink always seemed to welcome her with open arms.

“Good morning, Mama. It’s been 2 years, 12 months, and 31 days since you and Papa died…I’ll be turning 19 soon…Me and Knell are going to go get a small cake to celebrate; and some flowers for tomorrow.....I still get looks when I go out…They whisper about the color of my hair, my lack of warm clothes even though it’s winter…Knell does his best to defend me, but being as small as he is, no one pays him much mind. I’m surprised though, since no one seems to have a pet quite like him. They used to stare and back away in fear, but now they act as if he’s not even there…as if they can’t see him…But since it’s been so cold, no one will leave their homes and I can walk around town in peace. The shopkeepers have gotten used to my coming in all the time, and some of them are nice to me. Joe is my favorite, though. He always smiles kindly at me and doesn’t seem to be afraid of me, like everyone else. Sometimes, on my birthday, he’ll give me an extra bag of the candies I like. He always calls me Gem…though I’m not sure why.

It snowed a lot today, so I might go see him while everyone else will be shut in. I need more parchment and ink as well. Tell papa that I miss him; I promise I’ll write him a letter tomorrow. I love you both, and I promise I’ll clean up your graves as best that I can. Good bye Mama.”
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