With April of 1891 having begun, Rosemary was supposed to have been married to Oliver already, but there seemed to be no such prospect, at least not for certain. Her mysterious illness had become worse. She could hardly get out of bed or move or breathe, her lungs mercilessly suffocating her with an insidious disease from within. When her eyes were open, reality was but a paling shadow of itself, everything located within her horizons draped with a subtle black curtain. The respite from it all was brief, but when it came, it was exciting beyond belief.
The letters from her secret admirer had not halted, only fastened. She was reluctant to admit it, but her vanity blushed at everything he said to her. Like her, he was a poet, describing the object of his desire in flattering and pathetically romantic terms, telling her that he instinctively knew her to be beautiful and generous and clever and artistic and most lovely to be around. He viewed her more as a flower than as a person, and she could not help but feel that way as well. Before him, she had never thought of herself in those terms, preferring to never think of herself at all, but now, glimpsing her graceful face in the mirror, she could see everything that he, and hopefully everyone else around her, saw.
Having known him as this for several months at the time, she believed she had the permission to imagine a perfectly correct vision of her future with him. Peaceful walks by the lake, running across sunny meadows like children, enjoying delicious pieces of cherry cake, writing poems about each other from the soul, and, as a particularly memorable image, making love to each other with the utmost passion.
Although she had never made love before, as was to be expected from a woman of her peculiar marital status, she had come to know far more of it than people assumed a virgin would, but not so much as to make a complete libertine of herself. She saw it when animals did it in the woods, she heard it when people did it through her window, and she read about it to some extent as well, but not too thoroughly. As with everything else concerning her little romantic plot, she pictured the deed she wanted to do with him as mostly tender and only mildly inappropriate, for it was one of the ways she mellowed that unwanted thought. It would not do any harm if it merely resided in her mind innocously, now would it?
However, no matter how much she might have wanted to do so, she could not reside within her fantasies forever. Her brother came to her every few hours to look at her, searching for something to say, which was not easy for him, and when he did find a topic to talk about, it would not last too long. Those who visited her house and stayed in the drawing room mourned her in advance, believing that she did not hear them, but she very much did. The family doctor stared at her wretched, pale face, wanting to instil hope in everyone, but clearly having no hope himself. It was evident that quite many people cared about her well-being.
Despite her caring about everyone in her vicinity, there was one that stood out amongst all of them. It was her Father. Having never known the love of a mother, she valued his love above everything, for it was vast and sweet. He had always played with her, always consoled her when her nerves consumed her, always made sure to teach her everything she needed to know, always considering her happiness far more important than his own. And, although he had always told her how her beauty and kindness and grace reminded him of his wife, he tried his best to not think about the past too much when he stared at her face. A situation as dreadful as this one changed everything, which she could observe on one random evening.
"Caroline has brewed this for you," he said solemnly after coming into her room unannounced, slowly walking over to her bed to hand her the tray, which contained tea and biscuits. "It is marvellous how thoughtful she has become. I suppose that even someone like her can look at someone like you and feel sympathy. It is a wonder to behold."
She let out a deep sigh. "I appreciate her efforts, but I have not been eager to eat as of late. My mouth is filled with an odd, toxic feeling whenever I consume a substance, any substance, and I cannot bear it."
He shook his head. "I understand your feelings, Rosemary, but you have to handle it, among other things. Remember that your future husband is arriving tomorrow night to see you some time before you are to be married. It is unfortunate that your matrimony has to begin in this manner, but I would not wish you to die unhappy and unwed. The presence of another person in your life will make everything better, no matter what happens."
She blinked twice in befuddlement. "That is... I have no words. I beg of you, leave me alone with my supper. Dahlia will come to pick up the tray when I am done."
"Are you certain that you-" he began before witnessing a truly shocking event.
Out of nowhere, his daughter began to cough up blood. Her petite, frail figure shook vigorously as she resisted the terrible force that had claimed her as its own, her eyes widening in horror as she saw things that no one should see, her throat aching with a pain she never could have imagined. He knew that one should not be immediately thinking of the worst in his situation, but for a moment there, he saw her as a corpse, his lungs choked by a cry so painful, he could not release it. A little while later, she looked as if nothing had happened, except for the blood that coated her pretty pink lips, leading him to sigh in relief.
"What is it, Father?" she asked when she saw that he was staring at her the way he would at a ghost a few moments later.
"It is nothing," he said, cold sweat crawling down his back. "For a moment there, you looked like your mother."
She nodded solemnly. "Of course. Now I want you to leave the room. I need my solitude more than ever."
"Yes, my daughter," he said, leaving the room without another word.
She grasped her heart with her both hands and crying with all her might the second he went away. She tried to tell herself that there was always hope, but she saw nothing but death in her wake. The Grim Reaper loomed over her during every waking second, floating above the ground like a phantom, twisting his slender, cold fingers around her neck, tightening his grip on her heart that beat like a caged bird singing in her chest, leaving her helpless and desolate like so many other unfortunate victims. This thought became her new obsession, putting her at unease during that night and the following day, and she could not tolerate being tormented by it. She needed a distraction.
The following night, when she let herself drown in her enchanting fantasies, a thought came that brought mirth and temptation to her heart, lifting her up from the unromantic reality with its wings. In her daydream, she was laid on her bed, but there, her legs were spread, and her naked figure beheld with admiring eyes. Her admirer came to her, begging to become her lover once and for all, seduced by the way she presented herself. She sang and danced to him alluringly, playing with her golden hair with a coquettish wink of her sapphire eyes, shaking her body in a way that eagerly displayed her thin curves, her tiny breasts and buttocks. She could not help but indulge in the image of her proudly offering her love to the man who had conquered her heart and him saying yes in his wonderful voice and bedding her with fervour. In fact, she had had thoughts such as these on several other occassions, what with her having become her own lover in the dark.
She removed her thin nightgown to explore her body again with her soft, desirous hands. Supper was over, the curtains were closed and the door locked, and she was certain that she had not forgotten about anything, even though a part of her had told her that she must have. Her thoughts were melting due to her lust; her hair smelled like the finest of roses; the kisses running over her figure were as soft as petals running over a pond; her breasts were smooth as silk; her thighs, albeit gentle, were heavy with the flames of arousal, and thus, when the fingers of her right hand had found their way into her organ, she used their swift, merciless whims to contrast with their soft texture, her lips releasing loud gasps of haunting, yet still captivating licentiousness. Oh, how delightful! Oh, how scandalous! Oh, oh, oh...
Over those sounds, she was unable to hear the otherwise rather noticeable steps of her father and fiance, but, if one were to be in the anteroom with them, they would very well know that they were able to hear her. They exchanged awkward glances for what they knew was longer than they should have, but they could not blame themselves, for their minds were overtaken by surprise. After a while, the fiance came up with something, but he had no time to do anything, for her father had opened the door without thinking, aghast by the scene before his eyes, not having expected to see his daughter in this edition.
"Who are you?!" he shrieked, his whole body shaking with fright. "What do you think you are doing?! Have I not told you that your fiance would visit us tonight?!"
"Sir," Oliver muttered. "I am fine with it. She must have forgotten, which is understandable, for she-"
Elliott waved his hands in the air. "I have no words! I have never known Rosemary to be like this! I thought she was a perfectly innocent virgin, I swear!"
"Mister Wells, you must know that, in every human heart, there are desires that beg us to fulfil them, and that sometimes we all have our moments of weakness," Oliver said gravely.
"Young lad, I have lived for far longer than you have," the old man said, clasping his hands as his eyes welled up with tears. "I have rejoiced and sorrowed and learned countless things you could never imagine, and even I am not sure to make of this world. My daughter, a lady whose womanhood I thought to be a pristine, untouchable thing, has now... Shattered that notion, to say the least."
"There must be a solid reason for that," Oliver said, stroking his chin.
"Indeed," Elliott said, staring into his daughter's eyes. "But what could it be? Tell us, Rosemary, if you would like to do so, of course."
Rosemary shuddered at the thought of facing her sins, but she knew that not doing so would only make the situation worse, so she began explaining herself with a deep sigh. "In this prison most people would call a bed, I have thought many things. I have thought of life and love and death, and all these grand concepts would not let me rest. My fear of loneliness has overcome me and brought me to desperate desire, knowing perfectly well what could happen to me at any time. And, if I were to live, I would be a more learned wife to you, Oliver, which would bring you satisfaction, would it not? Are you not merry at the thought of our perfect consummation?"
"Yes, I-" Oliver began before Elliott raised his hand, gesturing him to shut up.
"You are nothing like your mother," the old man said sorrowfully. "She never would have acted in this manner, preferring to keep herself pure in pursuit of a perfect marriage, which was a success for as long as she was alive. You, on the other hand, are more than excited at the thought of jumping directly into the waters of Lust, demeaning the Rosemary everyone knows and loves, creating nothing but a feeble, wanting copy of yourself. I see that Caroline has had quite the influence over you. I will have to throw out the witch sometime soon."
"No, my desires are not her fault!" she shouted, which he seemed not to have heard.
"Sir," Oliver spoke again after a couple of seconds, causing Elliott to turn his head. "I thought you were not much of a conservative. I have heard you say it sometime, have I not? Or is that a false memory?"
"Oh," Elliott said dejectedly. "I am sorry, children, but my mind has been behaving strangely as of late. It seems that I have never accepted from the death of my wife and that I never will, haunted by her whenever I have nothing to do, which is far more often than I would like, and this event, united with her spirit, taunted me to no end as I saw Satan himself rubbing it in my face that joy will never return to me and that the world is covered in sin. However, even if both of those things are true, lust should not be considered monstrous in and of itself, now should it?
It is one of the seven deadly sins, but we all sin sometimes, and repenting and redemption is all that matters. As long as situations such as these never occur again, this event will leave my mind. Now, let us get ready. Dahlia has prepared a most delicious dinner, as always, and I would not want to forsake her efforts."
And so they did, leaving their demons behind, if only for a little while, causing the night to end in a lovely promise that brought hope to all.