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Returned (Narrative)
The minute before now, she'd been grimy and hungry, huddled under a broken roof in die Festung, trying to hide and sleep at the same time. And now, the comforting scent of lavender swirled over her. She was still outside and it was still night, but it wasn't dirt underneath her; it was a deck. Her deck. And the lavender was from her garden.
It was too real to be true. For the first minute, Beauty sat with her arms clasped around her knees, waiting for it all to go away again. But unlike other dreams she'd had in the last two weeks, this one stayed. At length, she stood from her porch, then walked down into the City Commons. This was home. She was home.
There was her river, which sometimes appeared and sometimes didn't, babbling just behind her cottage. She followed the sound, for once throwing propriety to the wind, and started pulling off her tattered clothes as she went. The summer night was warm and comfortable as the river was cool. Hope was trapped inside her chest somewhere; she felt it rattling around, but it didn't make it out into her features. She just washed, then washed again, then washed again, and when she could wash no more, she walked, unashamed and dripping, back into her cottage.
A few minutes later, she returned to the porch in a fluffy terrycloth robe that could have gone around her twice. It'd been hanging on the hook just inside her cottage, as if it were waiting for her. As if nothing had changed at all. She realized she was still hungry. She turned her head and saw a basket full of pears and cheese and warm croissants. Dropping to the edge of her porch and dangling her legs off, Beauty picked up the first croissant she found and began chewing.
None of this felt like it could actually be happening. She was home, and there were so many people trapped in that terrible place she'd been for the last two weeks. What of them? What would become of them?
It was too real to be true. For the first minute, Beauty sat with her arms clasped around her knees, waiting for it all to go away again. But unlike other dreams she'd had in the last two weeks, this one stayed. At length, she stood from her porch, then walked down into the City Commons. This was home. She was home.
There was her river, which sometimes appeared and sometimes didn't, babbling just behind her cottage. She followed the sound, for once throwing propriety to the wind, and started pulling off her tattered clothes as she went. The summer night was warm and comfortable as the river was cool. Hope was trapped inside her chest somewhere; she felt it rattling around, but it didn't make it out into her features. She just washed, then washed again, then washed again, and when she could wash no more, she walked, unashamed and dripping, back into her cottage.
A few minutes later, she returned to the porch in a fluffy terrycloth robe that could have gone around her twice. It'd been hanging on the hook just inside her cottage, as if it were waiting for her. As if nothing had changed at all. She realized she was still hungry. She turned her head and saw a basket full of pears and cheese and warm croissants. Dropping to the edge of her porch and dangling her legs off, Beauty picked up the first croissant she found and began chewing.
None of this felt like it could actually be happening. She was home, and there were so many people trapped in that terrible place she'd been for the last two weeks. What of them? What would become of them?