The Mist Maven

DAMSEL

Chapter 18

"I told you not to say anything to Eve."  Cymen handed a bloodied sword to Margarethe, in plain sunlight, the next morning.  His heart broke so clearly, right then.  She settled the weapon across her lap and allowed it to stain her white apron.

Cymen was dressed the same as when he arrived the night before.  Looking ready to start something, and finish it too.

"Evenso, you have just finished with so much violence on the battlefield.  You should have slept or prayed, gone before Micco with your misery, instead of doing this!"

"It was a duel.  It was fair."

"You are the head of the holy army.  What chance did that boy have?"

"Eighteen years old, from what I recall Eve screaming.  And, anyways, he lived.  He did fine."

Adam and Eve

DAMSEL
Chapter 17

When Cymen Ruecross was fated to return to Gafe, it would be Winter Mass.  Eve plucked a holly leaf from the wreath nearest her, and smelled it.  Then, liking it too much, worked prying the thing from its nail to a door, pricking her fingers and yelping throughout what was supposed to be a stealthy job, got it, screamed joy and ran, and only then did the poor person open their front door.

"I saw the Virgin covered exactly in holly.  I saw the Maiden Mother herself!" the child with paint smears all over his cheeks squealed and ran back into the house to further frustrate his parents.

How wrong, anyone could ever be, about Eve.

Though she hid from Margarethe all day because of the trespass, word still got to the wayward woman that there were good things due her, if she were to show up at Church, and on time, on Sunday.  Eve did so, and saw it was the start of Endvent.  She wasn't particularly fond of the service recently.  Something about Micco being just beyond the great doors and the altar upset her, but today, other than the surprise, it was more to test Margarethe's wrath before so many, new game! 

Eve arrived late, with pointed leaves sewn all over her gray dress--it took a sad amount of skill to be this naughty, needle bending through cloth, and holly pricker sticking every other stitch.  Margarethe eyed Eve sideways, and whispered that she would not be discouraged at saving her, the effort only showed she had promise.

"What?  I can't hear you talking in the middle of mass, over the priest, Margarethe?" Eve asked loudly in response.

Margarethe flushed red and nabbed grinning Eve by the ear as soon as the service finished.  Much to Eve's frustration, not a soul there had a problem with it.

"Ow, ow, ow!  I will never go to Church again, I promise you.  I hate it now, oh how I hate it!"

Sorry--several sad turns of the hour glass you can't ever get back

DAMSEL

Chapter 16

Damascus now had an aura about himself that he didn't like, because Cymen kept nagging about it.  Was she still well, after all this time?  Had she been willing?  Did he, in his estimation as Archbishop and perfect, most generous best friend, believe that she really was worthy by now and taught?  Somewhere, in there, was a fervent desire to also know whether or not the woman was still as round-hipped and sweat-stricken when she slept.  Damascus never told anyone he had the ability to sense such things, woven beneath conversations.  It was far too priceless a talent.  He might convince Giselle to laugh later, though.  For now, the white shimmer of having just done a very good thing was going to be annoying while he grazed, and so the Unicorn willed the evidence sparkling his fur to die.

"Psst!" It came with a blast of hot breath.