Promise the Sky

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Kiara

 

 

 

I run my hands over the silky material, relishing its feel beneath my fingertips, and the dress seems to flick out from my touch, dancing in the window's breeze. I have no words for this sensation, for how great this feels.

"What did I say?" Martha asks, her hands joining in my caress. "Dresses, flowers, songs, and men. I think we can check one."

Melissa walks past and, as always, she is derisive.

"I am afraid I can only do the best I can, when you ask it, Martha." She says, and her eyes sweep me critically. I do not care. Of them all, Melissa's undisguised mockery means nothing to me.

Absently, she passes Martha a bouquet and the bride presses the bunch reverently into my hands.

"Flowers." She says, "Check two."

I smile. For Martha, for dresses and flowers, I smile. These things make me happy, we know it despite the fact that as every second of this morning stretches out, turning into afternoon, I lose another of my final moments at her side.

"Listen to me, cripple, and I can check the fourth of those for you." Melissa murmurs arrogantly, walking past a final time before she exits the room.

It is just Martha and I, alone again, everybody else has left, is outside getting ready. I should say something. I should wish her luck, tell her I love her.

I should smile.

"They asked him what he sought,
"On that summer's day,
"In the only way,
"They asked him what he sought."

I look up, from where I have been staring absently at the flowers in my hand, ruining our final, pure, moment together.

Martha giggles. "Music," she says, "check. What did he seek, Kiara?"

"Light."

Martha's voice rises in song again. She does everything so charmingly but I cannot help but wonder what is happening.

"And as they asked, it was I that answered.
"I told them light.

"What did he find, Kiara?"

"Death."

Martha steps forward, knocking my hand, the one with the flowers, aside. I had been cradling them to my chest and she uses the vacated space to throw her arms around my neck.

"That's our song." She says.

"Is it?" I ask, wary. It is not a happy song.

"You're always looking for more." She says, "And I always just follow you, speak for you, look after you."

The girl can barely rouse herself before noon, I am definitely the carer.

But Martha continues. "And he is only ever disappointed, focusing on this one thing he's looking for. In the song, I mean. And she just always watches out for him. 'But in all their questioning, in the pique of their desire, not once was he asked his name.' Whenever I hear those lines, I always wonder if he even really cares or if it's just her that gets hurt by how they use him."

"I don't understand..." Martha does this too often, speaking out of order, her thoughts all jumbled up.

"Sing the third verse."