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“My lady, you know… Recovery…”
Valerie replied, her breaths growing shallow and quick. “Yes, I am aware.”
He stood up, turning a vial in his hand before squirting the milk white substance on a handkerchief covered in dark brown spots, and without warning, pressed it on her neck. Valerie dug her nails into her palms to not scream as he tore a crust of scab with the cloth.
“You are angry at me,” exhaled Valerie. The scowl on his face made him look scarier, and Valerie realized, he was fighting tears back. He cleaned the wound with cotton and brought bandages, and without looking at her once, said, “We must leave speculations aside and focus on your recovery, madam.”
“But you are.”
“Well… That goes without saying, madam.”
“I’m sorry, doctor.”
“The damage is done, madam. There’s no need for an apology.
After two weeks of various treatments, Valerie was able to move around her room without assistance. She was confined to her bed for most days, battling with fever and lesions of pus, however, she was never left alone. It eventually got so annoying to the point that Valerie locked herself in the room. The constant vigilance, inspection of her wound, burning incense with the hopes of eradicating the disease, or being the subject of unconventional medicine experiments had further devastated her nerves. She was getting better and it made the doctor curious and suspicious in equal measure. A palpable change was hanging in the air, yet Valerie was uninterested and reluctant about its circumstances. It was easier and much preferable to sit by the window, contemplate about the horrors of her illness, and resort to the meandering ways of her mind. The issues and complexities of life had become overbearing. She wanted to be left unobserved, like a distant star which was nothing but a cloud of dust and light, yet by no coincidence, she was pulled back to the realm of mystery and secrets once more.
It was the same day Mircalla returned. Valerie had not seen her after she left the room with the same promise, punctuated with a hearty voice and well wishes, and now she was lingering at the doorway, staring at her, the curling flames reflecting her gaze.
“You look better.”
Valerie did not reply. Instead, she gave her a half-smile and turned to watch the snow-covered peaks, the pine trees looming in the back, from her frosted window. Her sagging cheeks hurt with the motion but she managed to keep her posture erect. She could not bring herself to look at this outlandish woman without a swelling bitterness in her mouth. Their intimate moments seemed so distant now, as if they belonged to someone else, that Valerie believed she only inherited its account from another person and mythologized them. It dawned upon her, with the lights of sadness traversing her body, that she was left behind like a holy relic no one wished to possess anymore. But, she was no saint or martyr. She had to cope.
“Are you vexed with me?” Mircalla leaned in to see her face. “Will you not speak?”
Dust motes had stirred up, swimming in the room. While everybody was busy examining Valerie, nobody had paid attention to the damp sheets, piles of ashes in the hearth, and pieces of cloth lying around on the floor with scabs from her wounds.
“Don’t hide from me, Valerie.”
“What?” Valerie glared at her. “What is there for me to say that you already don’t know?”
Valerie saw her nodding in the corner of her eye, giving her thoughts a new turn. The brooding intensity with which Mircalla looked at her was disturbing.
“I know what it feels like to be trapped. The constant humiliation, being the first person everyone looks at when something goes awry, fearing if you’ll survive another day when there is a dizzying, permanent longing inside you that wants to dig the roots of the earth to make a bed for yourself, and when you find a place, a person, that covered in the saps of creation, who is evergreen despite everything, you don’t let them go. You hold the pressure in your hands and whisper sweet nothings to it. You make another bed.” Mircalla held her hand, gently pressing her thumb on her colorless knuckles. “You move me, carry me to a place beyond recognition. What an embarrassment—how foolish I am to hurt you. I’m sorry, Valerie. You’re much dearer to me than a friend and I-I am put to grieve when you look so! Let us put this behind and never waste a moment again. I made a promise to you and I intend to keep it. I’ll tell you who I really am. Come with me tonight, darling.”
Valerie laughed between hot tears. “You’d be a terrific poet, but I know to never ask for a rose garden.”
Mircalla had her head down, trying to hide her smirk. “That, I’ll never promise. Will you run away with me tonight?”
19
A flurry of snowmet them at the gates. The Vertigo Peaks stood on its solitary hills, proud and piercing the sky, but Valerie felt its ferocious vibrations like crashing waves. It looked like a wasteland with its many windows shone under a sunken glaze, stretching in all directions, neglected and shaking to its foundations. She felt someone or something watching her, the cold breath on her back, but they entered the forest undisturbed, hand in hand, running like schoolgirls.
It was a steep road with trees extended in every direction. Valerie and Mircalla were dancing, their ridiculous hats hardly on their heads in the wind, boots crunching on the untouched snow, reminding them that they were the first to wander, stretching before their eyes like a blanket and Valerie had a prodigious appetite for crushing every little dead branch and shouting over the midnight birds. It was a perverse sensation too, for there was vindication and voyeurism at surveying this little corner of the earth, as if they possessed and bent it to their will, and conquering it with their steps.
Her knees were trembling with exercise and looking over at Mircalla, Valerie noticed the deep languor on her face was smoothing away.
“Where to?” she screamed, her hair blowing in the wind. A murder of crows took flight, flapping about them with a discordant squawk. Mircalla looked at her triumphantly but did not speak. Thatched roofs emerged behind the trees, the smell of coal against the bitter chill of the night was mixed with the thick, oily fog. A sizzling-hot lump formed in the back of her throat. It hurt her to look at this vastness, this light. Only to see vengeance and animosity. She knew these houses stored storms and fury while their candles burned with fondness for anyone but her. She had never been worthy of their affection.
Yet, she was more disappointed in herself to have tried to capture their hearts. She had let them put her on display like a caged animal presented for entertainment. No, she should have known, from the very first day, when they lay their calloused hands upon her, that she would turn to spite and injury for consolation, for preservation of her mind.
The town had taken a new form with heavy falls of snow. It had retreated, shrunk into itself while the glistening frost bit at Valerie’s knuckles. She huddled deeper into her cloak, her breath billowing like smoke in the frigid air while her teeth were chattering against the roof of her mouth. The thrill in the forest had vanished. What were they doing? Two ladies high in rank in trousers, dashing around breathless like mischievous children, pretending to be free, fanciful in their ambitions. An enigmatic guest and her bashful host.
“Are you sure you want to do this…whatever is it that you want to do?”
Valerie stopped with a jolt, her hand hanging between them. Mircalla took it and kissed her palm. “Are you afraid?”
“I am only ever mindful of grander obligations and my failures.”
