There was no qualm that Willa had a problem.
Her grandmother noticed this the first night when Willa had moved in; she had heard a faint tearing sound in the dead of the night, astonishing her out of bed and instigated her to follow the waves of the sound which in turn led her to Willa’s bedroom which the distressed girl so cordially occupied along with an assortment of paper hearts torn out in unkempt shapes from the walls.
Willa and her grandmother, Angela, have always been communicative in a reserved way, but with the turn of events unraveling before her wise eyes shaded with silver, Angela realized the real reason as to why her son resorted to depending on her to, in a sense, fix his solitary daughter.
Days passed by equitably hastily, turning the discernible days into weeks and soon after, months. Willa spent her days of recuperating and learning inside the great antiquated manor which her grandmother called home, and often found herself occasionally lending a grimy hand to help with errands around the house.
Eventually, there came a time when Angela grew weary of finding her granddaughter either picking at the wallpaper or fiddling with her emergent assortment of paper hearts which she cherished in a diminutive package kept carefully on the floor in the minuscule fissure between her bed which whined mercilessly with every pound of weight added, and the white nightstand with acnes resembling the color of dank sand forming over the surface from the wearing off of the dilapidated paint.
“Willa, for God’s sake,” Angela sighed from the doorway of Willa’s guest room. Willa looked up swiftly, nearly closing the hefty lid of her box in which she cherished her collection of paper hearts on her willowy fingers. “You’ve been sitting in here for days on end; I’m surprised you haven’t gotten tired of this room yet. Now, get up and come outside, I’ve managed to think of some work you could do in the gardens.”
The girl stood up abruptly, blinking as the world flashed before her eyes and her head pounded beneath her skull. She reluctantly set the box filled with scraps of paper onto the floor before turning to her grandmother expectantly, with an expression as if she were telling her to lead the way.
Angela took Willa’s hand in her own, resisting the impulse to shudder at the taciturn, parched skin of the fledgling girl. Together they bumbled through the enormous mansion, and Willa found herself enthralled by the countless extents of antiques and prints lining the walls. Her fingers tingled to seize onto a wall and tear the rococo wallpaper to tatters slowly, but her grandmother towed her along.
Willa’s eyes dawdled for a little too long on the battered wallpaper, and she found herself on the front porch, her eyes watering with a stinging sensation from the sudden contact with the bright sunlight; a heavily decorated door standing tall in front of her as the sun shone in slivers of brightness through the infinitesimal cavities of the green leaves fixed freshly to the branches of majestic trees.
Angela prodded Willa further outside, gesturing towards a watering container and a row of potted plants. Willa found herself taking cautious steps onto the coffee colored pathway, peering over her shoulder back towards her grandmother who smiled softly in contentment.
With shaky hands, Willa heaved up the watering can, balancing it on her bony knee as a few droplets slopped out onto the unadorned skin of her legs. She watched three droplets race each other, trickling down her leg, a small, curious smile playing on her lips as she gripped the handle.
She took tentative steps towards the row of grand plants rooted into pots filled to the brims with obscure, fresh soil, and allowed her eyes to meander over the immaculate landscape, the fresh air profuse with the aroma of flourishing roses and the sanctifications of spring.
She noticed an impenetrable wooden fence behind the dense bushes of roses, and teetered on her tip toes to peer over the fence. She found herself looking into a completely different setting; the lawn beside her grandmother’s was rich with tiles and fountains, along with vibrant green hedges. The faint sound of snipping enthralled her to keep looking, before her eyes landed on a slender boy slightly older than her own age, wiping his brow with the back of his gloved hands as he focused his gaze on several hedges in front of him.
Willa tilted her head to the side, her tousled blonde hair falling messily over her shoulder as she endeavored to get a decent side view of the boy her eyes so curiously fed off of.
At last, the boy turned his head, and she touched his pink, pursed lips neatly wetted from his own breath with her eyes from athwart the fence. She kept her mouth barred and her eyes wide so that she did not have the smidgen of an inquisitive love painted upon her fingertips for the rest of her life.
She inhaled sharply at his every movement, his actions charming her to no end. He was much like the winter; fresh, inviting, calm. But she suddenly averted her eyes, reminding herself of her grandmother’s wishes and her incentive to rectify quickly, afraid that she’ll get caught up in the wild blizzard of his heart, never again to witness the bloom of the sweet, sweet spring.
