The Necronomicon

Chapter Twenty Three

Meredith had been distracted — distracted by Frederick's touch, by his words, by his kisses. She needed to ask about Anastasia. It was burning her up from the inside, this need to know. It had taken over her; all Meredith could think about was whether Frederick loved Anastasia more than he loved her.

She shouldered her knapsack, the contents tumbling around inside it. They were heading to the marshlands today — Meredith had made sure all her dresses had been washed and dried. Frederick was already here, his arm hooked in hers, his eyes smiling at her. He had his own bag, too. It was bigger than Meredith's — and heavier — but he held it as easily as if it were a sack of feathers. Frederick's arms were taut, his muscles stretching; Meredith couldn't help but notice his brawn.

Dawn was eerily hazy, like a blurred watercolour made up of oranges and yellow and a faint white. It was like a mist, hanging over them, suspended in the air. They were on the edge of the rebel camp — the clearing they were standing in led to the exit. Last night Frederick had presented a farewell speech, and a few rebels were seeing them off this morning. Olivia and Dmitri stood to the side, their eyes on Frederick. "See you soon," Dmitri began, and Frederick hugged him tightly.

Olivia rushed over to Meredith and took her hands excitedly. "This trip is going to be so romantic." She promised. "You've got to take this opportunity — get closer to Frederick. Perhaps you might even tell one another that you love each other!" She smiled brightly, and Meredith mimicked the beam happily.

"Love?" She said, turning to look at her lover. I love you. If Frederick said that to her, she would melt as easily as snow would in the summer. She looked at him, smiling even more when she noticed his eyes were already trained on her. He cast his eyes downward, as if embarrassed to be caught staring at her — Meredith left Olivia standing there and headed towards him, pressing her hands onto his arm. "The marshlands." She said simply, and his hands grazed her midriff softly as he replied.

"The marshlands, Meredith. That's where we're going." His eyes seemed to spark with something — maybe it was love. She hoped so.

Dmitri and Olivia were not the only ones there — there were two figures up ahead, their shadows dancing on the dirt beneath them. Meredith looked closer, her eyes zeroing in on one of the two — the one she thought might be a man. She peered at him — and blanched. Alfred Floodwhistle. Of course it was. Her eyes switched to the other figure quickly — it was Audrey. After shooting her a swift smile, Meredith turned back to Dmitri, who was talking.

"Have fun!" Dmitri called, and Frederick nodded to him, pulling Meredith closer to his chest. Olivia repeated the refrain, smiling. As Meredith caught her eyes Olivia gave her a hefty wink — shaking her head at her new friend, Meredith let Frederick lead her forwards, through the grassy clearing. They passed Audrey, who waved. When they walked by Alfred Meredith refused to look at him, even when he bowed deeply.

"Safe travels," He said, and Frederick thanked him. Meredith remained awkwardly at his side, her hand knotted with his, her eyes avoiding Alfred's hazel ones. They looked like pools of honey in daylight, she thought, remembering them and their shape — she shook the thought away.

Fortunately, they moved on quickly.

"Are you excited?" Frederick asked her, his left hand toying with her spiralling hair, the other firmly clutching his bag. Meredith nodded, and he slipped his hand from hers to adjust his bag.

As the minutes crawled by, she thought back to one of the diary entries that she'd read last night.

I was given the kiss of death today.

This was not the kiss of death that I've heard about: in legends, in speech. Today, I felt the true one — the true kiss of death.

I am giving myself — and my ideals — away. He kissed my lips today. Elder Hawthorne. He kissed me and I felt myself — my soul — shrivel up and die. I have lost myself: I am succumbing to society's will, and marrying. Without my thoughts, without my opinions — my core — I am nothing. And he is the man who will take me away from myself — yet I am marrying him. He is the reason, the cause of my death — perhaps not the passing away or deformation of my body, but the end of everything that makes up me.