Into the Goodnight Ch. 03

Dear Readers,

Thanks for returning. I hope you are enjoying this little tale. Please leave any comments, good or bad, about your thoughts. I love hearing them.

Thanks to Already Taken for her much-appreciated editing skills.

Enjoy!

Titania

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"I hope you have lost your good looks, for while they last any fool can adore you, and the adoration of fools is bad for the soul. No, give me a ruined complexion and a lost figure and sixteen chins on a farmyard of Crows' feet and an obvious wig. Then you shall see me coming out strong."

-George Bernard Shaw

It was as black as pitch. So deep she couldn't see the bottom. Even the light of the sun overhead couldn't reach it. A black hole. And as Aurelia sat on the edge of the well, staring down into that black hole, she couldn't seem to pull her mind from its gravity.

Until she heard the sheep.

The bleating was slow in breaking through the wall of her attention, having existed for some minutes, gradually building below the many surfaces of her thoughts of the previous night spent at the wonderful mercy of her husband. And then the sounds, constant and grating, became too sharp to ignore, and she looked up from the black hole of the well to the growingly chaotic scrimmage between a boy and two disorderly sheep.

It was the same dark haired boy she had seen some days before with an errant goose, and he was currently holding onto the necks of two sheep that apparently had differing opinions on which way they should venture. Just before the pair finally managed to split, the boy looked at Aurelia, large brown eyes round and frozen in the madness, and then one slipped from his grasp, and with no foot-holding, he was dragged off by the other down the way at a jarring pace.

Aurelia was poised to follow after him, but the arrival of a small group of older women saved her the effort. She sighed when she saw them, potential customers as they were, and readied herself for the demeaning job of offering to haul their water for a mite.

The degrading job had been Maks' suggestion that morning before he left. Aurelia had been on the verge of refusing; however, she knew any argument would be ineffectual as ultimately they now had no money with which to use as investment to make more from. It had burnt away the day before in her moment of distraction, and she therefore had nothing left with which to bargain. And so, once again for lack of better options, she found herself in an untenable situation. She would have to do hard labor for the poor.

As the first two women approached, their reaction to her presence at the well was much like the people in the market place the morning before: wary and distant. They came and drew their water, their suspicious eyes ever cast on her until they hefted the buckets sloshing water quickly away.

The second approaching group of women appeared to be more of the same, and for a moment Aurelia was certain she wouldn't be able to gain the trust of such guarded people, until one boisterous voice rang out over the quiet murmur of the small collective.

"Oh, it's my lovely neighbor I was telling you about," Hilma explained, breaking from the approaching crowd in as fast a speed as her weak and mangled legs could carry her. She stepped up to Aurelia who was perched still sitting on the side of the well, clasping her hand and peering up into the lovely face that she couldn't quite see.

"Come, Madge, meet my new neighbor, sweet girl that she is," she gushed. Aurelia had to force herself to keep a smile and not pull her hand away in disgust. It was not so hard as it had been that first day, she realized, assuming she must be coming accustomed to mingling with the commoners.

"Good morning, Hilma," she said in what she hoped was a pleasant voice. She had never needed to be pleasant before, never needed the graciousness of another, and somehow it felt as if by being kind she was being humble, and it grated against her nerves.

"Good morning, dear, and what brings you to the well? Drawing your water for the day?"

"Well, no actually," she began, thankful for the opening. "Yesterday I went to the market to sell all that lovely yarn we spun together. But there was an accident, a fire, and it all burnt. So my husband and I have no money left as he spent it all on that wheel and wool. He says that until I am able to afford more raw wool to spin again, I will be forced to carry water for anyone who can pay me." Her hands were folded contritely in her lap, her head bowed and a forlorn expression on her picturesque face.

"Oh, why that's so sad, my dear," Hilma cooed, her wrinkly hands patting Aurelia's shoulder. "My dear, this is Madge. And that's Elma and Gretchen and Hazel."

"Such a lovely thing," Madge murmured, getting quite close to Aurelia and peering up at her with large round eyes that might have once been blue but were now cloudy and gray.

"And her hair, looks as if it's made of gold," said a plump one who Aurelia thought Hilma indicated was named Gretchen. "Gold," she whispered again as if transfixed, stepping close and reaching out a trembling hand. But she paused and looked at Aurelia. "May I touch it?"

Her first instinct was to deny her, but then she saw a shiny lining to the miserable cloud. "Actually," she began cautiously, "only my husband has rights to touch my hair." She protectively closed her thin, graceful fingers around the fat braid that lay over her right shoulder. "But," she continued when she saw the flicker of disappointment in the old woman's eyes, her soft hands thoughtfully stroking the golden strands, "I think he might allow it if..."

The women leaned closer, waiting. "Yes?" Gretchen prodded finally.

Aurelia shrugged, as if embarrassed, "Well, if he might be able to profit from it." Her countenance turned sad. "I know you very good ladies think I am pretty, and I thank you for your kind words, but my husband..." she sighed looking off. "Well, he doesn't see me that way. He only cares that I earn him...money," she concluded miserably. She willed a tear or two.

"Oh, you poor, poor dear," Hilma comforted, again patting her arm.

"I'm quite sure your husband thinks you are beautiful. How could he not, unless he were blind," Elma asserted.

"Yes, I'm certain he thinks you are lovely, but he must just be concerned about your welfare. It is not always easy to earn enough."

"But every woman needs to hear it," Madge stated, nodding her head for emphasis. "I know I was not the loveliest girl in the town, but my Edgar made feel beautiful. Told me once I made his head dizzy," she admitted with a grin and shrug of her shoulders. "And that made everything bearable."

"And you, how could this man your husband not think you are beautiful. I'm sure your beauty must rival the princess of Orfeo," Hazel asserted.

Aurelia's brow rose at that. "Surely you do not think I am the most beautiful woman in the world," she disclaimed, a warmth growing in her chest.

"You are the most beautiful I have ever seen, I'll wager that," stated Gretchen. "And what's more, I'll pay your price if I may be allowed to touch that gold hair of yours."

"As will I," joined Madge.

"I'll not be left out," cried Elma.

And at once, all the old woman pulled out their little pouches made of skins and opened them. Aurelia felt giddy as they reached in and pulled a coin from each, though she noticed more than one purse was empty when they'd pulled their payment out. Aurelia reasoned that surely they did not carry all their money on them as they were likely to be robbed as not.

But still a little knot formed at the base of her throat. Clearing it, she asked if they would like for her to unbraid her hair. Standing at the well, they each took their turn after handing over their coin and ran their old wrinkled fingers through the strands of gold. They murmured appreciatively, commenting on its lushness, thickness, gloss, strength. Color.

"Forget yarn, my dear, spin this into gold," Hilma chuckled, enraptured by the tresses flowing through her fingers.

Their small group quickly drew the attention of others, and before long, every woman, young and old had gathered around the well, each taking turn to pay for the honor to touch the strands of gold. At some point, one of the younger women asked about her method for growing and caring such glorious hair, to which Aurelia saw another opportunity. She agreed to advise any woman on her hair for another coin, and that chore added another twelve mites to her already collected twenty-seven. Her thirty-nine mites equaling almost ten crowns.

When Maks arrived home that evening she was sitting at the window again, the corners of her mouth pulled just tight enough to hint at a smirk. Again, as the night before, he stopped in the middle of the room when his eyes landed upon, this time, a small purse of coins sitting on the table. His manner was quiet, again as if he were suspicious. When she saw that he was not going to be excited by the bounty she had brought, she rolled her eyes and slid from the window sill.

"Well?" she nudged, coming to stand on the other side of the table to him, her hands on her hips, her expression expectant.

"Well what?" Maks asked.

"Well aren't you going to say anything about the money? I don't know, tell me what an excellent wife I am or praise me for how gifted I am for procuring money?" she asked incredulously.

Maks' eyes narrowed. "And tell me, how tired and sore are you?"

Aurelia frowned in confusion. "Why—" But she stopped, suddenly realizing why. And in the next moment, knew that Maks must know, too.

But if he did realize it, he didn't say so directly, but insisted in following his line of reasoning. "Well, one haul of water alone is quite heavy. And yet it appears you serviced the entire neighborhood for the amount of coins you have here. You did what? Thirty-five, forty loads? That is quite a hard day's labor. Enough to make any man worn beyond tell, let alone you."

Aurelia's eyes cooled, her lips pursing. Such a smug bastard.

"Fine, you figured it out. I didn't haul any water like a slave. Happy?" She crossed her arms and glowered.

"No?" he feigned surprise. "Then how came you to earn all this?" he asked, picking up the little bag, and then for affect, dropping it with a dull thud back to the table, his mock-humor fading.

She stared at him some moments before a smile crept upon her lips. An eyebrow quirking up as an arrogance filled her eyes. "From the old women. At the well. Just as you said I should."

"But if you did not carry their water, how did you come by the money?"

She gave a cold, mocking laugh. "They were so enchanted with my lovely hair that I said they could pet it for a mite. It was all I could do to sit still and not vomit while their grubby hands stroked it, but each paid her last coin for the pleasure. A few even wanted my advice on how to repair their own frizzy locks, and so I gave them what advice I could for another coin. There," she reported. "And you said my beauty was vanity, worth nothing. There are almost ten crowns worth there. More than all your efforts in a week's time. I'd say it's worth something now," she gloated.

His voice was low. Dangerous. "You robbed them. You lured them into a false pleasure by your evil cunning and robbed them of the little money they had. Tell me this: now that they have had their vacuous pleasure, what will they pay with for their bread tonight? You practically stole what little food they could gain!"

She blinked at his sudden, uncalled-for anger. Her hands went back to her hips. "My beauty's all I have. Why should I not be free to be paid for it? Why should they not be free to choose what to spend their money on?"

Maks took an angry step around the table at her, his expression more full of rage than she'd ever seen. "Your beauty is poison when you use it as heartlessly as you have!" That lump in the base of her throat was back. And growing.

She swallowed it down. "They were damned privileged to even speak with me, let alone touch my hair! It's not my fault if they're too stupid to realize they should spend their measly bit of money on food instead of my pretty hair! I have no pity for the poor!" she roared before turning her back to him, her fat gold braid swinging around in a furious arch. And then in an instant her head was yanked back painfully before the tension pulling at her released just as suddenly in a sickening scrutch.

With the damning slice of his blade, she felt the cut of each strand of hair visceral in her gut. She stood stunned, a deafening crackle filling his ears, buzzing her head. Paralyzed, as what was left of her hair fell forward against her face, not quite hitting her shoulders. Slow hands reached back to her now bare nape. A pained gasp inflating her chest.

"My hair!" she breathed in shock as her fingers threaded up through her butchered locks. In dazed silence, she turned around, her mouth agape and eyes wide in horror. "My hair," she breathed again, water slowly brimming in her eyes. The tremors that had started deep in her chest now became visible through her whole body as shock overtook her entire system. She looked to him for help, for an accounting, to somehow reveal to her his joke and restore her hair as it had always been. As it always should be. But as her eyes slid down to his strong hand wrapped tightly around the thick rope that was her hair, her stomach lurched, bile rising sharp and fast into her throat. He might as well have cut off her arm, the raw gaping end pouring blood, for as repellant as the sight was.

"What have you done?" she asked breathlessly, her voice failing her completely.

But Maks only stared at her, the large muscle of his jaw contracting once, twice, then three times before he turned on his heels and strode swiftly from their little home.

Aurelia stared after him, immovable as the tremors and then sobs overtook her.

When Maks returned, it was dark, and Aurelia lay quietly on their bed. Her back was to the door, and in the dark, it was impossible to know whether she was awake. There was another small clanging on the tabletop, two more heavy coins dropped.

His footsteps were soft as he walked to the fireplace. At length, the room began to glow with the small fire he had sparked.

"That is the last money your beauty will earn you," he commented quietly.

Her heart seized again, despair once again flooding. She couldn't hold back her cries, and loudly sobbed into her pillow.

Embarrassment was not strong enough to subdue her tears in front of this man, a stranger, a husband. A hateful slaver. And so she poured her sorrow out in soul-sick sobs. When that wave of anguish had passed, leaving her drained and hopeless, she spoke softly, her mouth sticky with unswallowed spit. "Please," her voice barely audible, "just take me back."

A swelling pause.

"To what?"

"Home. Orfeo. Take me home to my father. I can't...I can't stay here. This isn't who I am meant to be. This isn't right." Another small wave of despair, tears choking the last few words.

"Little bud, you will never be a princess again. Your role changed the day you married me."

She could barely speak through her tears. "Then what have I become? What am I?"

The bed sank with his added weight. "You can be a good friend to your neighbors and a good wife to me."

Her laugh was cold and lifeless through her tears. A snake freezing upon the winter ground. "I was never taught those things. I know nothing of them."

His reply was gentle. "But you can learn. And you can be fulfilled in ways being a spoiled, worthless princess never could."

"You're miserable at cheering me up." Another laugh, wet and full of sorrow.

"I'm sorry you hurt. But I'm not sorry to shape you into something better than a brat."

Silence for several moments. "Am I really so awful?"

"Did you take the last bit of money those old widows had?"

"I can't return it," she whispered cringing, imagining the mortification. And then despair swamped over her again. "I can't do this, Maks. I'm not made to think of others. I'm not meant to care."

"No, you weren't trained to think of others, only your beauty. But you can change. If you will allow me to guide you, I can teach you what you need to know. But you must first trust me."

A day ago, his offer might have offended her. Now it seemed the only hand out of the dark chasm she found her miserable life. "Trust you?"

A warm hand on the bottom of her rib cage, its heat seeping through her frozen misery. "Yes, trust your lord and master. After all, that is what I became to you when we said our vows." There was irony there in his voice, and she imagined he was poking fun at how a mere peasant would become lord and master of a princess, royal by birth.

She still felt despondent, but Maks' words were gentle and kind. And what's more, held a belief that Aurelia was more than just the beauty she had grown to resent. She turned over onto her back, her tears sliding down her temple toward her hair line, and looked back up at him. In that moment she realized had her father shared the same philosophy as her peasant husband, she might have been suited to be someone's queen instead.

"A beautiful heart is better than a thousand beautiful faces."

-Mariane Corbito

The morning breeze drifting through the door was cool against her face and carried the saltiness of the sea with it. Aurelia sat on the stoop and leaned against the old wooden door jamb, her eyes closed as she listened to the gulls squawking overhead.

She was tired, despite the long night of sleep, her energy gone with her hair. At the thought of her beautiful locks hacked off, her heart liquefied causing her eyes to fill with tears. And just as she felt the lump harden in her throat, she had the distinct feeling someone was watching her. Her green eyes snapped opened and she nearly gasped in surprise at the boy standing not a foot away from her. It was the same small little boy she had seen about town, always wrangling some cantankerous animal, always losing.

His expression was expectant, perhaps a little worried. They stared at each other for some long minutes until finally she gave a questioning shake of her head. "Yes?"

"Your hair is gone," he stated, a hint awe in his voice.

The bile rose again, but she managed to maintain control. She blinked at the abruptness of the statement, at the acidic wash in her stomach and swallowed. "Yes." Her voice was huskier, tinged with the strain of her grief.

"Where did it go?"

Her gaze once again lost its focus. "To my husband's coin purse."

The small child pondered this, not knowing why a man would keep hair in his coin purse, even hair that looked like gold as hers did. But, being a child, his mind moved on back to its original problem.

"Please, can you help?"

Aurelia gave no indication that she had heard him.

"Help me?" he asked again, any confidence washing away with the forlorn woman's demeanor. "Please?" he whispered.

"Get your mother to help you. I can't."

"I don't have a mother."

A small turn of her stomach preceded her answer to that. "Then ask your father." But the small boy only shook his head. The princess' eyes slid to his filthy face, her eyebrow arching ever so. The boy continued to softly shake his head before mumbling, "Don't have one of those neither."

Her lips pursed as she held back any forthcoming emotion to that despondent reply. "Sorry, but ask someone else. There's nothing I can do."

His head fell a little to the side. "There isn't anyone else. Please? I'll be in ever so much trouble."

She would regret it, but it wouldn't go away, that deep nagging in her stomach. "What do you need, then?"

"The sow," he answered urgently.