There was a woman with such forlorn eyes in front of me. Her eyes were crystal clear, like a lake that mirrors the hue of a cloudless sky but the depth of the waters gave a feeling of a certain intensity. Looking at these eyes makes me melancholic. Such a young woman but filled with so much pain it almost drowns me so as if I am sucked by her grief. Which should be impossible as that woman is my reflection.
I tried to smile and all I could see from her was a heartbreaking fake.
"That looks creepy, my lady," Melene commented from the sideline "You look like those pretty porcelain dolls that would just break just by smashing them to the ground."
I only twitched at her unnecessary annotation. I was really trying hard not to react to her every provocation as it would only give me a headache.
"Your tears are absolutely frozen, my lady but ah, the trembling looks beholding for me to delight."
"Silent, servant," I glared at her because while I could not overpower her I still have to remind her of the role she has to play "Every time you open your mouth dirties the air I breathe."
She smiled as if I was making a joke. Sometimes I wonder if she was simply a masochist or was angering me her hobby?
"You look cute when angered, my lady," she suddenly said before purring "Delectable and ravishing~♥"
I threw a bottle at her hoping it hit her hard. If it was the expensive perfume Achille sent me as a gidt, I never regretted anything at all. Or bothered caring anyways.
"How can you be unkind to this poor maid of yours, my lady?" Melene whined as she nursed her nonexistent bruise on her head. The bottle was broken into pieces and her face was wet from the perfume yet not a single welt. It's unfair how hard that head of hers is.
I gave her a deadpanned stare as the nauseating smell of magnolia invaded my space. I hate magnolias.
"Well how was I supposed to know you can actually act prude when you're actually lewd and vulgar? Didn't you poison your husband in that one life of yours? And in the middle of lovemaking? And there was that one or two lives that you have lovers left and right."
"I'm pretty sure I slit his throat before consuming poison in that life," I corrected her "And it wasn't lovers but I was made into a pleasure whore."
I really wish to forget all the memories of that shame. In that life, I ran away and got caught by slave traders who found my hair exotic. Rather than hold me for ransom... things happened. Though I suppose I did learn something from that experience like say, poison and how to kill a man.
"See my lady, your mind is full of lechery."
"Be silent, servant and help me prepare for dinner."
Melene pouted but complied with my wish. The tightening of my corset almost squeezed all my insides and I have I scream bloody murder at its fit. Did she wish to kill me?
" Well my lady, I'm just thinking that you must be prepared," she replied with a laugh "After all, a lady's weapon is her beauty, her smiles and clothes are her knives"
"At this rate, that knife is going to choke the air out of me," I huffed "Loosen it!"
"I'm afraid not my lady. This dress used to be a perfect fit for you."
I blinked at that before glaring at her with all the outrage I could muster, "Did you just call me fat?"
Melene only gave me a smile.
***
The corset scene aside, Melene actually did her best preparing me for dinner. She was actually good in choosing my dress, a dark purple one with less lace whilst my hair was rearranged in a high crown braid . It made me look like how a daughter of a good house looks like. The awe on other servants' faces was empowering for as far as I could remember I could only hear their pity and disgust at my supposed cursed state.
"You've always been beautiful to me"
A pause
That voice, that memory was one of him. Not Achille, no... not him but the man I could have loved had circumstances changed. If it was him I loved, I wonder if I could been happy.
"My lady?" Melene interrupted my thoughts. I looked at her and I have to admire her façade of a concerned maid. She's one scary actress. Then again, so am I.
"I am fine, Melene," I smiled at her if only because we have an audience. If it was only the two of us I would have ignored her overall existence because I am petty. She called me fat and a lady does not ignore insults like that. Then again I would have to limit my intake of her sweets.
"If you say so my lady," she said but I could recognize the mischief in her eyes "Should I prepare cold soufflé later on?"
"The desserts this dinner would suffice," I answered though I was inwardly cursing with all my being "Though I suppose I would wish for some tea later."
Make it green tea, I silently ordered.
"As you wish my lady."
There was silence between us as we went towards the dining hall and as much as I am feeling numb, I keep reminding myself that I am playing a part. The me today is an act to hide the ugly me inside.
(monsterjealousynumbnumbnumbhate)
"My lady," a butler called me out with a bow, opening the door towards my awaited beloved. There was still the flutter of my heart at the notion of meeting Achille again. This body who loved him with her all with all the naivety of a young maiden yet this is also the me who has inherited memories of her, the me, who hated him and loved him all the same.
Such a complicated predicament I have found myself in. I love Achille yet I despise him all the more.
I entered, forcing a smile as I clenched my hands. I could feel my nails digging through my flesh. It stings enough to distract me from my internal brooding and prevent my breakdown.
I curtsied as I glanced at my audience.
My father, with his more portly features, was a far cry from his youthful portraits of the past.
My mother, cold and dignified, looks every inch a highborn compared to father.
My sister, who looked innocent and fragile, makes me wonder how she can be bourn from the union of the two.
And... I paused, confused.
"You've always been beautiful to me"
It wasn't Achille. I could feel my blood freezing as my heart stopped.
"Forget him! He doesn't care!"
It was him, with his soft smiles, easy laughter and cruel whispers.
"I love you"
And I could have loved him if the gods had allowed him and me to meet first.
"Why won't you pretend with me?"
He who offered everything to me and I could have accepted his love... yet I didn't. Was it foolish of me so?
"I could love you in a way he wouldn't."
No. It wasn't because I lovehate Achille. He doesn't deserve to be used. This person whom I treasured as my only friend and confidante, was someone I love enough to not to use. My passionhatelovehate towards Achille was consuming me and I fear that I would consume him too.
"I love you"
I could have loved you.
"Lorena," father began as I went near the curious guest (with his honest smiles and not all those pained gaze and mocking laughter) "Lord Achille is unavailable but he sent his proxy. Greet Lord Lancelot D'Ariigo, his cousin."
"A pleasure meeting you, my lady," he stood out with a bow and smiled.
I smiled at him as I held out my hand for him to kiss.
"The pleasure is mine, my lord."
It isn't. He wasn't supposed to be here. My first meeting with him was supposed to be when I'd be married into the D'Arrigo household. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"I am charmed, my lord," I said as I tried to modulate the panic inside "The winter roses were a lovely sight to behold."
"I am honored by your praise, my lady," he answered with a chuckle.
My heart was beating fast. It was not him and his disarming smile that I am nervous at.
The script I have from my memories was changing.
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Liebesträume
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It was perhaps foolish of her to relish on the night air in the gardens alone with nothing but a chemise and an overcoat to keep me snug. The cold breeze gently caresses my skin like a lover would. It makes me shiver at the tingling chill as I rubbed my hands before putting myself in an embrace to feel more warmth.
I could see my breathe but the only regret I had was not bringing her coat. It was a freezing cold, yes, but not as much as the bed I shared with my husband who without no doubt is with his mistress indulging themselves with the sins of flesh outside the marital bed. It's humiliating me.
It's cold but I knew it won't kill me this much. It's not winter after all. I just want to feel numb.
If I die freezing out in the cold at least it would be amongst the fragrant moonflowers. They look so beautiful as the bloom, becoming queens of the night that they are, or butterflies that had slowly emerged from their respective cocoons. So pretty and white
"Cold," I huffed as I tried to make myself "I should have asked Melene for tea."
Though I did know why I refused her wonderful company. But I really should have asked her for tea. And I should have brought with me a coat or something. Maybe I should build a fire?
"I'm really pathetic," I muttered because Achille would be disappointed with my misbehavior if would be camping outside the manor because no matter how he handles our matrimony, he would hate it if gossips that his wife was a shrew or something. Then again I could have caused fire in the garden.
Hmmm...those ideas are really tempting if only to see the look on Achille's face.
I sneezed. Seriously, this is really cold. I can't feel my feet. I really should have worn some socks.
"Lorena!"
I turned towards the voice only to see Lance bringing in a coat.
"Ah, it's you."
"Don't sound so disappointed," he murmured, wrapping me with the coat. "You could have died in the cold."
"Not really," I assured him "It might be really freezing but as long as it's not winter, I'll live."
"You'd get sick," he replied in a deadpanned manner which was unlike his usual self that it made me laugh. He softened for a bit. "Let's get you home, Lorena."
He tried to help me up but I only shook my head.
"I don't feel myself sleeping, Lance," I sighed "I just want to be away from Achille and her."
He paused before snorting himself, "Your sister's an idiot. Your husband is more of an idiot and they truly match themselves in idiocy."
"You sound bitter, Lance."
"You know why, my love."
I gave him a small smile and sighed, "I wish I could have loved you."
"You could always pretend," he almost whispered those words as he held me in a tight embrace " I could love you in a way he wouldn't."
I let myself melt in his warmth but I could only quiver at his words and keep quiet.
"You've always been beautiful to me," he murmured in my ears "I love you."
I know. I know it too but I just can't love you like this, I wanted to say but his grip on me tightened.
"Do you still love your husband?" He asked and there was loathing in his tone when he mentioned his once beloved cousin, never able to utter his name in distaste. It reminded me of how I just can't seem to mention her without being hateful.
"Yes, I love him," I answered truthfully. Because I love Achille just as much as I hate him too.
"Forget him! He doesn't care!" he cried as he spun me such a force I was facing him. His usually gentle eyes were wild, feral and dangerous. His grip on me was welcomingly painful.
A part of me feel sorrow towards this wonderful man I have ruined in this madness , this part cursed myself for my wretchedness because Lance was truly a kind man who had fallen for this vile me. And this wicked part of me was happy that I was able to drag another soul in this insane farce. This wonderful charming saint-like gentleman loves me as a woman. He craves for me- my body, my soul and my everything. He was a man anybody could love.
'Why not you?' a traitorous voice asked me and I paid it no mind. I held his face and stared into his eyes.
They were a lovely silver in color, of ashes and smoke of a blazing inferno that I could see the fire behind those. It was entrancing, drawing me to the unthinkable. To melt in his arms as I pretend . To fulfill my desires as a woman who lost her husband to his mistress. To warm my bed as I get lost in a dream.
I could not. Not to Lance who is a dear friend of mine.
"You're thinking of him again," he growled. His looked as menacing that moment that it was hard to believe that this was the soft-spoken tender Lance that kept being my supporter. This Lance was a monster of my own making. As much as I wanted to surrender myself to him, it's not right.
"Lance, I can't love you," I affirmed with the most gentlest tone I could "And even if we'd be pretending, it wouldn't be right."
I know. You loved me too in the past. In those memories, it was a dark and treacherous madness we both shared that you called love. It satisfied my desires of the flesh yet I craved for his love. You were happy to have me as your paramour yet you were unsatisfied that you do not have my heart. That madness, dear Lance, ended up in a tragedy. I could still hear your crazed laughter as you cried and stabbed me a lot of times and I could only felt grief for dragging you down with me. This time, I won't let you fall down to my level.
"Then pretend with me," he begged "Why can't you love me?"
"I don't know."
And I don't. Truly I don't because I know I would be happy if I could just bring myself to love you.
"I want to love you," I said aloud as I froze at my admittance. How careless of me.
"Yet you can't," he said with such sadness I couldn't speak. I could only nod at it.
He hugged me and I stood still as a statue as the stillness suffocated me. I feel hot.
"I love you," he whispered cruelly in my ears I trembled. It was too much for me.
"Don't cry, Lorena," he said as he wiped away my tears. I didn't even notice that I was crying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I scared you."
"Not scared," I insisted
"I hurt you,"
I shook my head as he looked at me with his beautiful eyes. So similar of hue to Achille yet filled with warmth and love for me. Why can't I just love you? I'd be happy.
"Let me love you, Lorena. Close your eyes and pretend," he said as he pecked at my lips before passion overcome him.
Against my better judgement, I closed my eyes, relishing the silence and savoring his love. I did not pretend. I could not pretend. Not when he's too different from Achille.
Lance was bursting... passionate, his fingers too lost in thoughts and his kisses eager as he trailed though every of my skin he could claim as his own. He was a man and I was his woman. That night, we shared more than a kiss but a beginning to our descent to tragedy.
I'm sorry, Lance but I can't bring myself to care at this point. I couldn't love you but let me accept your love before I drown in tragedy. Yes, let me pretend. I could care not anymore for the consequences of this sin but I only regret one thing.
I wish I could love you.
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A/N: Well, who said that the recollection would only be of the first life. Let me know what you think of Lance.
Liebesträume: Dreams of Love (by Hungarian pianist and composer, Franz Liszt)