I was alone today, set to the task of gathering out-of-season chaste berries, so I swept my hand over the flowers again and watched the magic take hold a second time. The petals lost their color as the fruit began to swell into a rounded berry. I held my hand over one cluster and let the magics flow, observing the fruit as it ripened and then dried, turning brown inside the graying flowers. There was beauty in this, too, and moreover purpose. I had picked about half of the berries that I needed when I heard soft footfalls, and a familiar hand came up to help. But this wasn’t anyone I wanted to see.
“Chrysanthe,” I greeted her, heart rising and sinking all at once.
She smiled a little halfway smile, the one that was only ever for me, but did not turn to look directly at me. Nor did she speak. She simply gathered the rest of the berries alongside me, dropping leisurely handfuls into my basket, which was also of the chaste tree. I worked with nervous hands, wondering why she had sought me out.
“You needn’t be scared of me, Eury,” she said after a few minutes, observing the way I was missing the basket with every third handful.
I cursed lightly, under my breath, as I bent to pick up the scattered dried fruits. “You know I don’t like being called that anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Euryale. It was what he called you, wasn’t it?” She had stopped what she was doing.
“You ought to know well that it was.” I glanced sideways at her, and caught a guilty blush rising to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, apologizing more sincerely this time. She took a deep breath, and for the first time I noticed she was a little nervous, too. “I just wanted to say it one last time. That was selfish of me. Coming here at all today was selfish.”
She hadn’t been looking me in the eye when she said this, instead turning her gaze out toward the village down the hill we stood upon. She glanced back, and then away again, pain written between her brows.
“You look just the same as you did the day we parted,” she said quietly.
I said nothing.
“I can’t stay and wait for you to remember how much we loved each other, Euryale.” Chrysanthe sighed. “I came to say goodbye. I’ve agreed to marry [name], from [place].” She looked at me again, this time for a long moment. “I’m sorry.”
Something knotted and clenched deep inside me. Stomach perhaps, maybe heart; I couldn’t tell. I kept my silence against the assaulting memories that threatened to tear me down in front of her.
“You know this isn’t what you want,” I said instead.
Anger flared alongside tears in her eyes, sudden and hot. “No? How could you even say? Where have you been these past eight years but hiding away with your plants and your potions? Why did you run from me, Euryale? I would have kept your heart safe!” she cried.
I ignored the cutting words she spoke and demanded to know, “Why a man, Chrysanthe?”
“Because he’s the only one who doesn’t make me think of you,” she said.
“Am I such a bad memory? Then why come at all? Why not just run off with your new husband”—I said the word scathingly—”and leave me to hear of it through village gossip?” This gripping pain of the heart made me angrier than I should have been with her.
Chrysanthe shook her head. “This was a fool’s errand. This hurts me too, Euryale, but I’m not running anywhere. You were the one who ran… Just remember that.”
I opened my mouth to continue hurling words at her, then stopped myself as I realized it was too late. She was going, gone. I stood statue-still until she was out of earshot, and then I whirled, looking for something to take out my emotions on.
Thanks for reading and responding! I'm sure this will change a lot before it's done, so I'm trying not to get too attached to any specific part of the writing. What works for you here? What doesn't?
