Notes

Describing the Dead and the Sorrow For Them

I fall to my knees, the soft grass caressing my skin like I used to, stroking her hair until her eyes closed. She never slept peacefully, the nightmares made sure of that, but her face is placid now, her jaw slack. As if the grief was wrecking her so badly that the release of it awed her. Some relate the dead to angels, but I see her as a mannequin, frozen in some casual pose, making you believe her eyes will move any second. That Madelene will leap up and beg to pet my horse again, or take my hands for a dance. How can someone so new to this world and so in love with it have it ripped from their beautiful hands? I reach my strong hands to take her pale ones and begin to sing her favorite lullaby.

Go to sleep, go to sleep,
Go to sleep my angel,
When you wake, when you wake,
The sun will shine bright,
Even when the sky is grey,
You can always look to God's light.

I considered revising the second verse, but she WAS angelic when blood ran through her veins. I picture her sleeping on my lap, her golden curls fanning her face like the sun's rays, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks when she blinked, her honey brown eyes widening when she laughed. I try to imagine her like that now as I continue to the final stanza.

Go to sleep, go to sleep,
Go to sleep my darling,
When you wake, when you wake,
I'll be waiting here for you,
Even when I'm far away,
Know that my love is true.

I love you.

My voice breaks on the last line. I pluck a strand of Mercy's mane from her neck, which she doesn't even seem to notice, and pull a strand from my own head. Black and brown, I twist them together and fold them into her hands, then clasp them together like she does when she prays. I smooth her hair down and kiss her forehead, where just minutes ago there was a crease. My hands shake as I remember what she said, seemingly years ago.
"If anything happens, I want you to take my mother's charm bracelet," she says, holding her wrist up to the sun. "Nobody deserves her love but me and you, so that's where it will stay." She wraps her tiny arms around me for a moment, then runs out of the cottage. It pains me to discover where her thoughts are on her eleventh birthday.
Swallowing down a sob, I release the clasp on the bracelet and slide it away. I don't want to wear it, for it won't glow the same as it did against her pale yet rosy skin compared to my olive toned complexion. Instead, I pocket it and decide to save it for special occasions, to attach to one of Mercy's ankles. Madelene would've liked that.
I rise to my shaky feet and stare at her stunning face one last time. My hands are clenched so tightly that my knuckles are almost as pale as hers. You have five seconds left, Lillian, and then you must go. Five. I relax one finger. Four. Another. Three, two, one. I turn away, my bow in my right hand, and mount Mercy. I press her forward without glancing back, and force my brain to focus on one thing; revenge.