Archive for the 'ella' Category
i don’t know what you want me to say.
are you well? are you all right? is there anything we can do for you? any way we could make you more comfortable?
it’s hard to say “i”. it doesn’t feel right to use language. i am . . . cold.
but fire would scare you, would it not?
i don’t want to be burned.
we have nothing else. only blankets, and body heat. would you like something hot to drink?
don’t… just don’t. please, don’t hurt me any more.
we’re trying not to. i know it must be hard for you to trust. what you’ve gone through, what you project, it affects us all. and you didn’t deserve it.
you don’t know.
her letters trickle like drops coming off of icicles. we’ll never get anywhere at this rate. why are we all so frozen?
are you stupid?
chris, be nice. we’re all trying here.
you… are called beth?
yes, sweetheart. what do you need of me?
come… here? can you sit next to me? am i really here to stay?
if you want to be, we will all try to keep you here and protect you. and no one has come after you yet. so i think we are safe.
you’re… warmer than the others. you won’t go away?
not until you want me to.
i don’t… want you to.
she is not being grandiose to think she brought the snow. inside, perhaps she will. it is frozen on the island, for the first time in recorded history. our houses are not built for freezing temperatures. we keep to the communal spaces, or places like beth’s house that have fireplaces. there is no fire in the cave where she hunches, cocooned in blankets. there is only the little, tentative body heat to warm her under all those blankets. and the heat of the earth, the stone walls, but that is colder than it usually is.
so what do we do? it seems a little ridiculous to think that anyone could get better when they were there. the first step must be taking her away from there.
you’ve upset things enough already. just leave it be.
there may be hands and eyes, but there are no people. she is completely alone in there.
except for katerina?
just because she can write for her doesn’t mean she’s company.
she needs some company.
riven) is there a need of me?
no. i don’t think so. you all have tampered with enough. no delving into other mirrors!
katerina) i’d have to rewrite the tale. and i’ve spun enough.
kate) but don’t you think it’s for a noble cause? don’t you want to help her?
katy, sarcastically) yes, slave, haven’t you found enough joy in your given labor? shall we all kiss up to those who ignore us?
beth) we’re not ignoring… we’re trying not to ignore.
katy) i didn’t mean it bitterly, i guess. just found the guilt trip a little ridiculous.
katerina) the tale is spun. rewinding takes time; it upsets things;
she waits in the ballroom. her dress of yellow silk hangs in the servants’ room, coatroom, whatever you call it, a hole in the wall at the west end of the room. the chandeliers hang broodingly, and their cobwebs are so thick it looks like dirty icicles clinging to the crystals. the floor is smooth and shiny, checkered and cold. you could see your reflection. maybe, you could even see the reflections of those that have been there before. memories moving vaguely in the floor wax. only when you look out of the corner of your eyes.
