Rosalind - Amby Awards 2023 TOP PICK

26-The Vow

In Rosalind's dream, she was lost in the woods. She heard no woodland sound, no stirring creature, she felt no breeze. Though the snow fluttered around her, the only thing the raven-haired woman felt was a longing, a need for something she could not place.

Do you dream of me, Rosalind? Am I there when you slumber so deep and so dark? Allow me to become a tribute to every little sin you have ever wanted to commit.

The voice echoed as it had in Rosalind's dreams not too long ago. It spoke to her as though it were the voice of every tree; as though it were every flake of snow that fell on her hair, on her dress, and at her feet. When Rosalind reached out her hand, the snowflakes avoided her warm flesh, all but one which landed in her open palm.

Do you dream of me, Rosalind, upon my chariot of rot?

The voice came to her again and although her logic whispered that she should wake, she did not rouse out of the dream. Though the young woman lingering in the dream was terrified, she did not flee. Something kept Rosalind there, in the center of the woods where no other living thing dared stand.

Rosalind looked at the flake of snow in her palm. It was not melting as a little shard of ice should. She could make out the intricate design on, it reminded her of a piece of lace a lady would have knitted.

Am I there, wedged between breast and bone where you keep every mad, mad thing? Allow me to become a tribute to every little sin you have ever wanted to commit.

When the voice echoed once more, Rosalind balled her fingers around the snowflake and turned in a full circle in search of the master of whom the words belonged to.

But there was no shadowy form by the young woman. No ghostly presence. No upset in the snow indicating footsteps. In the forest, there was no one but her.

In your heart, I will make my way as I had before. No one again shall sever what we will become; stronger than before. A mighty force, you and I. No curse, no witch, no huntress will come between us. To this, I vow.

The voice kept getting louder and louder until it was a cacophony in the sky and a ringing in Rosalind's ear.

You were not put on this earth to fall, my rose. The voice grew deeper and darker. Every syllable broke around Rosalind's boot-clad feet and left imprints in the snow. You were put on this earth...

Rosalind drew in a sharp breath severing the speaker's words. The woods fell silent, except for the sound of her breathing.

Rosalind opened her palm. Where the snowflake was, now a silvery butterfly stood. The tiny insect fluttered its wings as Rosalind softly uttered. "I was put on this earth to fly."

The butterfly floated around the raven-haired woman before it flew towards a thick cluster of herculean trees.

Come. Rosalind heard the butterfly beckon. Come with me.

The young woman's deer-hide boots crunched with each step. She followed the butterfly and was led through the trees; there, only a few shards of faded light shone through the umbrella of the thick branches above. The further she walked, the closer the trees became. Branches reached for Rosalind and tried to touch her shoulders and hair. When one took hold of Rosalind's coat, she gasped. Yet rather than pull away, Rosalind grabbed the branch harshly. She felt the woody fingers relax their grip until the branch released her coat. The tiny butterfly landed on a bough then vanished into nothing.

Come. The mysterious voice she had heard before found Rosalind. Come with me.

The young woman pulled away from the branches and followed the voice as it echoed throughout the vast place.

Come. Come.

Rosalind picked up her skirt and quickened her step. There was a longing in her heart, as though one soul was calling for another. An unknown desperation urged her on.

As she hurried, the snow burst from the ground and stormed around her, pushing her back, blinding her.

Come to me, the voice cried through the sound of wind whipping around her. Rosalind pushed through, struggling with each step. Her legs felt heavy, her hair flew around her face madly. Rosalind held up one hand as she tried to block out the snow hammering around her. She reached out with her free hand and tried to feel her way through the storm.

My rose.

Through the blinding gray and white storm, a hand reached for Rosalind's. Long pale fingers were covered in reptilian skin, the nails were transparent, glass-like. Rosalind reached for the hand, urgently trying to get closer. But just as their fingers almost met, a brutal force pulled Rosalind backward and sent her flying into a thick bed of snow. She cried out as she fell, tears burning her eyes for a loss she could not quite comprehend.