Woman.
That mysterious, alluring entity with many facets. Being a woman in a society that viewed her as an inferior sex was not easy. Being a woman in a society that viewed her rights as a prize that could be taken away was not simple. Being a woman in a society that viewed her as an individual who always came second was not acceptable.
She always wanted to do more. She wanted to break the framework in which she was confined, even if it made her appear in the eyes of society as a dissolute woman. There is no dissoluteness in seeking freedom. There is no dissoluteness in seeking equality.
"And as the legend of Pandora, the mistress of the box, said, in a world of darkness, there will always be a glimmer of hope."
The curtain fell tragically, followed by warm applause from the audience, as she was distracted and confined to the dark depths of her mind, to extricate herself attentively to the performers who came out to perform the final salute to their realistic play that had stirred so many emotions in her heart
The moon was half-dark in the snowy London sky. She was one of the last to leave the Greek Theatre after congratulating the playwright, an old family friend. She had never been a fan of the theater, but she found it a good opportunity to break free from her friendship.
"Mrs. Palom."
The quiet call stopped her from getting into her carriage, and she turned to face the reflections of two cheerful green eyes that smiled at her warmly, which she returned with a forced expression. "Hello, Mr. Sigrid."
"What a lucky break. I didn't imagine you were a Greek culture buff." Harold balled his fists, studying her pale face in the scant moonlight as she shook her head lightly. "I'm not. But a family friend invited me and I couldn't refuse. It was a wonderful experience, though."
Harold nodded, curling his lips sparingly, which he then closed with a gentle smile and a slight bow. "I won't hold you up now. It was lovely seeing you, Mrs. Pallum. Good night."
"How is Mr. Legrant?"
He straightened abruptly at her question, which came out with a remorseful spontaneity. He didn't let the riotous look in his eyes stop him until he shrugged. "He's doing great. He would have come with me tonight, except he's been so preoccupied."
He was playing on her trembling strings. She understood this very well. She was certain that Harold was fully aware of the latest developments between her and Louis, which had concluded with a letter he'd sent a week before tonight that had left her unable to make up her mind.
She didn't know whether he was expecting a reply from her, or whether he was drawing the curtain on a relationship that hadn't even begun. For the first time, a man had put her in a quandary, and that situation had upset her.
"Good." Was all he said in a blank tone. She lifted the hem of her dress to climb the first step toward her carriage, when Harold quickly called her again, his voice insistent, making her turn in response .
The curly-haired man arranged his words very carefully, before slowly paving them through his lips. "I just wanted to let you know. Louis might seem inexperienced around the men you've been with before. He might be flustered and speak so casually that he doesn't know what he's saying, but he's a nice guy. In fact, he's nice to the point of being naive. When he told me he proposed to you, I thought he did it out of admiration, but you should have seen the look in his eyes when he said he was in love with you."
Harold swallowed, watching her lips part as they began to say something, then he quickly resumed. "I know I have no right to talk to you about something like this, but Louis is my only friend, and I hate seeing him sad or heartbroken because he's in love for the first time in his life. I'm not asking you to take him up on his offer out of sympathy, because I'd be the first person to object. I'm just asking for one favor. Think it over one last time. And mark my words carefully. Louis might be the best man you'll ever know."
Harold tipped his hat as a closing line and left with a small, sideways smile that left a trace of his words, which rang in her mind like a hollow echo, dominating her troubled thoughts that had been briefly lost there
The horses continued on their return journey, not paying attention to him an inch. She couldn't say that she waited for Harold's words to convince her; she had made an indecisive decision and only wanted a little push from him.
She was a practical woman...feelings had no place in her dictionary. Men were always equal, and no one was better than others in her eyes.
The heated tongue crackled with a comforting trembling, a silence that enveloped him like a silk scarf, with the night candles twinkling around him, casting their shadows on his numerous drawings, greedily taking up enough of his focus and sight .
Louis pushed the edges of his glasses toward his pupils and continued to form his outline with precision, poring over it for long hours of the day, interrupted only by the minutes of tea and the late dinner his grandmother insisted on before going to bed.
The pendulum of the giant clock in the corner of the study moved with merciful ticks, announcing the tenth hour of another monotonous day of his week. His routine hadn't really been any different those days, so when the doorbell rang at ten, he was surprised.
He had largely expected that Harold had come to tell him how many women he had flirted with in the Greek play and how many boredom-busting nights he had wasted, though surprise held his tongue and his blue eyes embraced two solitary green eyes that gazed serenely at him.
It wasn't every night that he found Seven Pallum in a glamorous dress on his doorstep
"Good evening," she said. Her lips were crowned with a thin smile that enchanted him, and he answered it softly, like a kidnapped voice. The blonde swallowed her saliva in conflict and wondered, "I've been wanting to talk to you for a while. Is that possible?"
"Of course." He wasn't in control of his tongue at that moment. The house was completely quiet, and the candles created a warm, poetic atmosphere that he didn't want to touch. His heart bit him, screaming with confusion, as if his decision to forget the matter had become a fantasy in her presence.
The red wine poured into the glass, reflecting the gleam of his hesitant eyes. She had glimpsed her sitting on the seat by the window, fiddling with her fingers as if trying to gather his words and arrange them carefully on the edge of his lipsLouis pushed the edges of his glasses toward his pupils and continued to form his outline with precision, poring over it for long hours of the day, interrupted only by the minutes of tea and the late dinner his grandmother insisted on before going to bed.
The pendulum of the giant clock in the corner of the study moved with merciful ticks, announcing the tenth hour of another monotonous day of his week. His routine hadn't really been any different those days, so when the doorbell rang at ten, he was surprised.
He had largely expected that Harold had come to tell him how many women he had flirted with in the Greek play and how many boredom-busting nights he had wasted, though surprise held his tongue and his blue eyes embraced two solitary green eyes that gazed serenely at him.
It wasn't every night that he found Seven Pallum in a glamorous dress on his doorstep
"Good evening," she said. Her lips were crowned with a thin smile that enchanted him, and he answered it softly, like a kidnapped voice. The blonde swallowed her saliva in conflict and wondered, "I've been wanting to talk to you for a while. Is that possible?"
"Of course." He wasn't in control of his tongue at that moment. The house was completely quiet, and the candles created a warm, poetic atmosphere that he didn't want to touch. His heart bit him, screaming with confusion, as if his decision to forget the matter had become a fantasy in her presence.
The red wine poured into the glass, reflecting the gleam of his hesitant eyes. She had glimpsed her sitting on the seat by the window, fiddling with her fingers as if trying to gather his words and arrange them carefully on the edge of his lips .
"Here you go."
He held out the glass to her, urging her to crane her neck towards him with eyes that were pierced by a lifeless gaze as she accepted the glass with a soft hand, clutching its core with a warmth that stiffened in front of her with passion. She picked up the wine stem with her other hand and tightened her fingers in the embrace of his hand, looking at him calmly.
"Can I ask you something and tell me the truth?" He shivered. The contact of their hands was so warm it barely prevented himself from ecstasizing in the sea of passion while he was once without a voice. "...Why do you want to marry me?"
That thing. It wouldn't stop him no matter how hard he tried to escape it. He pursed his lips, breathing gently, and knelt down, placing his blue eyes deeply against her green ones. "Because I love you. From the first moment. And I never lie."
"Why didn't you wait until I loved you too?"
"I don't like secrets or waiting, and I don't regret expressing my feelings to you. I don't regret anything." He gathered her fragments on his lips. He was lost in the distracted gaze that filled her eyelids at his frank, passionate words.
A soft silence drifted, dancing with the lullaby of a nightingale fluttering outside, pouring its melodies lovingly into hearts that swayed with passion. Sikin blinked away for a moment, before looking at him again. "Do you still want to marry me?"
"My desire hasn't changed for a moment."
"Everyone will see you as crazy."
"Who isn't?"
He spoke without thinking. He didn't take his eyes off her face, which was filled with so many conflicting emotions. It was as if she was trying to change his mind, and he was clinging irrevocably.
"I have strict conditions," she admitted softly. She studied his eyes as she felt his thumb caress the back of her hand so gently that she shivered madly as he smiled with satisfaction. "I will be faithful to her."
"I am an unlucky woman."
"Bad luck follows you."
"I have a very fickle temper."
She unloaded all her negatives on him as a warning. And he accepted them with such an open-mindedness that it surprised her. She was honest with him that she wouldn't be the perfect woman to make him his lover... and he told her that no one was.
"Everyone has their bad days."
"I have a strange temperament." This time, his sores shone with a magical, heavenly sheen. He brought her hand along the trail of his lips, which left a gentle kiss on it that had pried her away, and he smiled, her heart inclined toward him. "And that's why I loved you."
He certainly had the ability to numb her, so she couldn't simply control her emotions. He had that flirtatious tongue that succeeded in captivating her for minutes, despite her hearing so much of it for years and years from different men .
But none of them were so sincere as to make her believe his words without question. Not like he did. He was inexperienced, untested; he was pure compared to her. Perhaps that made her smile sweetly. He was like a different entity to her.
"Can you wait a moment?"
She watched him, puzzled, as he got up and left. She felt the taste of red wine trickle down her throat, giving her a refreshing shiver that made her relax the moment he returned with a ghost of a smile and knelt down in front of her again.
He opened the velvet box with the palm of his hand so she could gaze at the blue diamond ring reflected in her irises, which rose to be the center of his sadly smiling pearls. It was a warm, poetic moment that she had never experienced, despite her multiple marriages and standing in the same situation over and over again
This was a special moment for both of them.
"I'm going to ask you that question one last time. Will you marry me?" This time was different. This time his tone was sincere, devoid of any hesitation or rashness. Everything was settled, everything was logical.
This time he was truly in love with her despite everyone. This time he was declaring his readiness to face everyone with her.
"Yes."
How could a single word like that beat the wings of his heart that soared in the sky of his ribs as he lost control of his mouth to smile with feverish happiness?
The moment the ring fused with her finger was the moment his feelings surged with passion. The moment he kissed her hand passionately was the moment he fell in love with her captivating smile. It was the moment he declared her ownership of his heart with all his longing .
The night was gentle.
The sky was like a stage, where the stars danced around the moon and its gentle clouds, which swayed coquettishly. Wendy came to the door of the house, welcoming the evening breeze with bewildered eyes, her feet bumping into something light. She glanced at it for a moment and smiled.
Harold was hidden by the vast veil of darkness. He followed her with a half-smile as she lifted the bouquet of roses from the doorstep and turned her eyes to search for him wherever she could not find him. This was not the first time, and it would not be the last.
So he surprised her with the bouquet of roses, which had become their custom on her doorstep late in the evening. He knocked softly on the door of her heart, knock after knock, and she prayed with each knock, second after second.
He smiled for the last time
Before he turned his back, departing with the whisper of a heart that surrendered to the truth that had boldly invaded his core. And a platonic love that swept through his youth .