For Mary

Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Intertwining Gossypium

Fleeing would be a good word to describe how the young woman took off from the market, but she was not running from the Prince, nor the opportunity. Despite the swift steps she took, I cannot call it fleeing, because she was running towards something. She was running towards a future, an idea. She was swiftly headed towards a seamstress shop.

Through lit streets she walked sprightly, broach held tightly between two sets of shaking fingers. The sun was setting, turning the cobblestones golden. The mute girl stopped under a sign that read Margaret’s Mending. She slipped past the wooden door that hid a well lit room.

The days before the ball Decebal spent in a blissful daze. He only had room in his mind for images of her and thoughts of her. He played them over and over behind his eyes. He could not be bothered by Wilbur’s questions and demands.

The day before the ball Decebal was an anxious mess. The decorations and food meant nothing to him and all day he simply could not be bothered with questions or last minute alterations. He could only rack his brain with the night to come. What would she wear? Would she dance with other gentleman? His heart refused to cease its racing. Every time he closed his eyes, there they were; her own green orbs to haunt him.

To ease his mind Decebal spent day of the ball horseback riding with a group of local Fox hunters. They bounded through the woods on their steeds, raced across fields and tracked a fox, but nothing could distract the Prince. The tree tops looked like her eyes. The shady brook looked like her flowing curls.