Writing Prompt

this is the sequel to A Night In James Cook Park.

I couldn’t stop grinning. I’d been grinning ever since I’d had asked my new favorite person on a second date—and she’d accepted.
I rustled through his closet, smiling like a maniac clown without makeup. I really had to cut this out or else she would never let me be her boyfriend. 
I reached up to the box full of ties and selected the most formal. Then I reached into a box and grabbed the gift bag I’d gotten for her, the beautiful gift inside.
Waving farewell to my mother, I dashed out the door and made my way to the diner. 
There she was. She was standing under the tree by the door, looking very pretty in a t shirt and leggings. Her long brown hair rustled under her yellow headband as the breeze whispered around her and the leaves on the tree. She saw me coming and smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Hey, Nat,” I grinned.
“Hey to you too, Jord,” she retorted, smiling. 
“How many times have I told you not to call me Jord?”
“How many times have I told you not to call me Nat?”
“Fair,” I grinned.
“C’mon, lets go. This place has a wicked good pizza.”
“Wait,” I said. “I’ve got something for you.”
“What is it?” She asked curiously.
I pulled out the box and passed it to her. She opened it up to reveal the beautiful blue velvet dress I purchased the other day.
She gasped. “Wow! It’s beautiful. And very pretty.”
“Put it on,” I urged.
She pulled the dress on over her head. Adjusting her headband and straightening her hair, she twirled and looked over at me. “What do you think?”
“You look…radiant,” I said, awed. I knew it would look good on her, but it really sets off her looks and accents her beauty. 
“Oh, good,” she said. “Because every dress I’ve worn before is an eyesore.”
I laughed. “I doubt that. Come on, let’s get that awesome pizza.”

…

Fifteen years and she still hasn’t broken up with me… I can’t believe it.
And now we’re gonna be married. 
I smiled. It was unbelievable, how things changed…or didn’t. Fifteen years to the day we met and I fell for her. She still catches me.
I straightened my tie and looked in the mirror. “How do I look?”
“You look fine, darling,” said Mom. “Just beautiful.” She patted down my hair. “I’m sure you will be very happy with this lovely girl.”
“Can’t believe that my lil bro is getting married,” smirked my sister, who was still acting like she was waaay better than me, even past thirty years old. “She’s way too good for you.”
“Oh, shush,” I said and whacked her.
My best man, who had been my best friend for twenty years, and my soon to be father in law walked in the door after visiting with the bride and her bridesmaids.
“How is she?” I asked.
“Good,” my best man replied. “Everyone is fussing over her hair and she doesn’t really care.”
“That’s my bride,” I responded.
A few minutes later, I was out on the alter, fidgiting nervously as I waited. The flower girl walked down the aisle, a very cute young girl who was my sister’s child. Everyone smiled as she walked past, but my eyes were on the door.
Then Nat stepped out and my breath caught in my throat.
Her smoother dark brown hair was up in a casual bun. It was elegant and beautiful. Her eyes glittered, and she was… beautiful. But the thing that really got me was that she was wearing the same dress.
The blue velvet fabric rustled as she stepped down the aisle. The dress was larger than the one I had given her all those years ago but the design was the same… and the colour was identical.
She stopped in front of me and we stood in front of the alter. I grasped her hands. 
“How do I look?” She asked.
“Radiant,” I whispered back. 
The monologue began. “Do you, Jordan Kandas, take Natalie Brown as your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Natalie Brown, take Jordan Kandas to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“With the power entrusted on me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
We kissed. I enjoyed every bit of it.
I traced the seams of the dress, feeling the fabric. I flashed back to the day I gave it to her.
“May you always shine with radiance,” I whispered.
She smiled back. “Ditto, Mr. Mushy talk.”
Laughing, we dashed down the aisle, she tossing her bouquet on the way.
We lived happily ever after (sorry about the cheesiness) and no arguments about dishes and children would ever tear us apart.

**_ADON

_**It first started with the tub. Or, really, it started with my mother.

She was lonely. She wanted to get remarried. She didn’t like how dark I was. She didn’t like how people looked at her after knowing she lived in the ghetto.

Sometimes, I could hear her whispering to herself under her breath at night. “Why is my life like this,” she would hiss, “I’m light enough to pass.”

I knew what she meant even at my young age. I also knew she didn’t love me. And I didn’t love her, either.

I don’t know what that says about me.

She got remarried to a white man—a rich one at that.

She smiled all the time. I had never seen her smile before then, but there it was, smooth on her pale face as though it had always been there.

I could see the looks my step-father gave me.

She could too.

But she prevented anything from happening, until my half-sister was born.

I was sitting on the stairs that day, my half-sister approaching three and sitting beside me. I was making a braclet for her out of yarn, and, as always, she was awed by my talent.

“Teach me! Teach me, Addie!” She looked up at me with her big eyes. I almost smile at them.

Almost.

Before I could respond, mother and step-father walked up to us from the other room. Mother wouldn’t look me in the eye; Step-Father smiled and did what she could not. He picked up my half-sister, tossing her up in the air and listening to her giggle, then held her on his side with his arm.

“Elise, dear, you and Mommy are going to the park today! How does that sound.”

I didn’t hear her response. Mother, still looking at the ground, made me stand and walk up the stairs while she followed behind me. I thought we were going into my room so I could change for the outing, but instead she guided me to hers.

In front of her vanity.

I could see a tiny dress on the bed. It looked very soft, like a waterfall, and it was a deep blue color—blue went really well with my skin.

Mother pointed at the vanity. “Sit.”

I did, of course, glancing curiously at my mother as she begin to apply makeup to my face. I stayed silent, knowing better to question her by then, and held myself still even as the powder make my nose twitch. After she finished, she made me stand up and tossed the dress in my direction.

“Put that on.”

I did, and it felt quite nice against my bare skin. Though, I was very confused. Did Mother mean for me to wear this to the park?

“Mother—“

“Shut up, boy!” She reached to me, and I flinched, waiting for the slap. But she just took my arm and led me to the bathroom that connected to her room.

She picked me up, placed me in the tub, and patted my head. Strangely, tears were in her eyes and her hands shook.

“Oh God, forgive me, forgive me.” She looked to the ceiling for a moment, then steeled herself. She stared at me, straight in the eyes. “Adon. Do not scream. Do not cry. Do not struggle. Do you hear me, boy?”

I nodded, finding my own self shaking, afraid of her fear.

“Let him go what he wants with you, and everything will be fine. Okay?”

I nodded again, slower this time. I wanted her to stay with me. Just for a little while. But she stood.

She left.

I waited for her to come back, to take me with her to the park with my half-sister. But I head the front door close with a shut, and the bathroom door open with a creak.

“Step-father?”

The fabric, the velvet fabric of a dress still scares me today. Any velvet, really.

Baggy clothes really are better.

People have a harder time touching what is yours.

When you get a Flashback it means like you see something it’s not there. There’s something bring it back to your childhood you could say that’s me your parents your sister so if you need to do anything else like after that was short when you wake up from your flashbacks You can smile and be happy those memories right there will keep you alive

When you touch the cloth get a flashback of a woman wrapped in it sift and warm dancing in the moon light running in a forest in a field, a fiery damsel in the wild The velvet started liquefying sleeping and he realised it could’ve been blood or the sadness and weeping of a woman in moarning

Fresh air filled Zephyr’s lungs, sterilizing the notes of sweat and smoke. She slipped out the back door of the club into an empty back alley. Dim light filtered in from the runic sconces at the far end. Wanting a moment to drink in the silence, she ventured away from the street. It was muffled chaos —the steady reverberation of a bass, the sycophantic screams of debauchery— rather than total quiet that accompanied her stroll but it would have to do.

She found herself amused at her detour. Old habits die hard. Her attention suddenly yanked to the feel of something plush beneath her foot. She looked down to find a discarded velvet dress. The club was no stranger to vice— alcohol, gambling, drugs, sex. Someone else must’ve slipped out here earlier and indulged in private. She stooped over, fishing the dress off the ground to inspect it, one woman’s trash was another woman’s treasure after all.

It was short and scanty, exactly the sort of thing you’d expect to find worn at a place like this, with sequins decorating the neckline. It reminded her of a dress her wife had brought home one time. Something new-age, she’d said, instead of one of her many mooncloth robes. She leaned into the side of the building, clutching the velvet, as ancient memories danced behind her eyelids.

The distant hum of music and voices transported her back to a salon she’d attended. Back braced against stone, alone in a sea of socialites, watching as her wife flitted through the crowd. Or tried to. She somehow always seemed to amass an entourage. Meanwhile, Zephyr had always been the observer, watching from the sanctity of afar. Still, she found her attention drawn toward her wife, even a wallflower craved sunlight.

Inevitably, her wife would flash her a saccharine smile and whisk her back into the throngs to socialize. And the night she wore the velvet dress was no different. She remembered the brush of her hand, faint conversation she tuned out, then the cold embrace of winter as they braved the trek back to their apartment. Her wife had been the one to suggest a bath to warm up. It smelled of lilac and vanilla. She had just finished easing herself into the tub when she noticed a glint of steel in the moonlight overhead.

She opened her eyes, dispelling the ghosts of her past, and dropped the velvet dress to head back to the revelry where she could drown the memories with her abundance of vices.

“Emily, you have a visitor!” A plump woman in scrubs almost singed with wide smile on her round face. The girl didn’t move. The nurse cooed: “Emily, my dear, let’s sit at the table, okay? I’ll bring some tea and your favourite cookies, how does it sound?” The girl said nothing. “I’m sorry,” the nurse turned to the visitor at the door. “Emily is catatonic. She never shows any sort of reaction to external irritants.” “You said she has favourite cookies, though,” the visitor commented. He was holding a package wrapped in a glittery paper. It looked a bit heavy. “Well, yes, it’s not really the truth, you see.” The woman sighed. “I’m just trying to give her some personality, some traits. Sometimes it helps. For example, Mrs. Oswald, our other patient, shouted at me. Turnes out, she hates sweets. I was so happy!” “Happy?” “She demonstrated a reaction! For the first time in two years! She’s gotten a lot better since then. But Emily…” The nurse looked at the girl, tears in her eyes. “Poor soul. I’ll be outside if you need me, but please, be gentle with her. She already struggled so much.” “I have no intention to hurt her. I just brought her a small present, that’s all. I’ll be careful,” the visitor promised. “Sure. Let me bring some tea, and I’ll leave you alone.” “Sounds good.” The visitor was a slim young man with ginger hair and boyish face features. It looked like he desperately tried to grow a beard for a long time, but hadn’t succeeded yet. His big, green eyes were wide and clever. The nurse brought a silver tray with a ceramic pot, a sugar bowl with small silver tongs, a bowl full of speculoos and thin mint cookies, a pitcher full of cream, and two small teacups and saucers in floral pattern. She put the tray on the table beside a window, then wheeled Emily’s chair to the table and left. The man sat on the chair across the table. “Hi, Emily.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. The girl didn’t acknowledge his greeting. The visitor poured some tea from a steaming pot to both teacups and put one in front of Emily. The tea smelled nicely of bergamot and lavender. “Sorry, I don’t know if you now prefer it with cream or sugar,” he said and sipped his tea. The girl didn’t reply. Her hands with thin, long fingers and bitten nails kept lying on her knees, motionless. Her lips were also bitten and chapped. The skin looked paper-white and lifeless. You wouldn’t be able to tell when she was taking a breath, that still she was. She could’ve been easily taken for a marble sculpture, for some unknown reason dressed into a beige soft sweats. “I have a gift for you,” the man said. “I’ll unwrap it for you, okay?” He carefully unfolded the parchment, holding the present close to his chest, as if he was afraid it’d disappear or get stolen by some unseen forces. He sat closer to Emily. “It’s for you,” he whispered. “It’s your dress, remember?” He stood up, the dress fabric falling down, reaching the floor. It was a black velvet dress with a beautiful skirt, swirling around. On the ends, it was heavily decorated with pearls and laces. The girl didn’t look. The man’s smile faded. “Listen to me. Listen to what I’m telling you now.” The visitor spoke as if in a rush. “You were a queen once. You had a castle, and a king, and you were a queen, the best queen we could’ve ever wished for.” The girl sat still. “You were a queen. Your name was different back then, and you were happy, and smiling, and laughing, and playing. You grew up, but you kept being our queen. Then, you died of old age, and you reincarnated, and we waited for you patiently, and you came back and reigned once again. You grew up, you died of old age, you reincarnated, you came back, you became our queen again. But then, one day you didn’t appear in Nightland. And the next day, and the day after. We became worried, and we were looking for years. I was looking for you for years, my lady.” His eyes blistered with tears. “This was your dress,” he continued in shaking voice. “Please accept it.” The man reached out for Emily’s hand and put it softly over the dress. “Please, my queen,” he whispered. “Come back to Nightland once again. We’ll heal your wounds, we’ll end your sufferings.” He closed his eyes. They betrayed him nevertheless, displayed moist marks on his young cheeks, barely touched with stubble. Suddenly, he heard a sob that wasn’t his own. “My queen!..” Emily began twitching slightly in her wheelchair, her eyes rolled up into her hear, showing the ivory color of the white. Her hands grabbed the velvet of the dress tightly, holding tight as if she was on some kind of a roller coaster. She kept jerking, short of breath. The man considered calling for the nurse when he heard her raspy voice: “They all died.” He looked at her tenderly, his hands covering hers on her knees. Her twitching calmed down a little bit. Emily looked at him weakly. She saw it so vivedly. She recalled her family being hungry and poor. She remembered how she dreamed of Nightland the first time, and escaped there every night ever since. Her life in Nightland, although she could reach it only when sleeping in the real world, was the happiest part of her life. She saw The Great Hall of her marble castle, bright with chandeliers. She saw all of her people dancing in summer, playing in autumn, holding hands in winter, celebrating in spring. She saw her king-consort, sitting beside her, supportive and kind. She saw her visitor being her trusted protector, her Royal Knight. She saw that, at the beginning, her name was Alice, and then Celeste, and then Emily. She saw her real world getting in flames. She saw her parents and sisters burning alive while she was in Nightland. She saw getting brought to the hospital seven years ago and never living its walls. Her weakness infuriated her. “Cheshire?" The man beamed, hearing his name again. “Yes, my queen?” “We’re going back.” Emily clenched her fists. “And get me out of this wheelchair.”

Ihre Fingerspitzen strichen über den schimmernden, samtweichen Stoff des Kleides. Er war kühl und geschmeidig, gab sanft unter ihrer Berührung nach. Doch an ihren Händen spürte sie nur Rauheit – harte, vernarbte Haut, gezeichnet von Kämpfen, von Arbeit, von Entbehrung.

Der Stoff erinnerte sie an den Himmel über den Bergen bei den Minen – das sanfte Rosa eines Sonnenaufgangs, das in ein endloses Blau überging. Goldene Stickereien schimmerten entlang der Säume, Diamanten funkelten auf dem Korsett, als würden sie Atem holen.

Sie schluckte schwer.

Etwas in ihr zog, zerrte, riss. Ein Echo aus einer anderen Zeit.

Und plötzlich war sie nicht mehr hier.

Der Stoff lag auf ihrer Haut – weich, schmeichelnd, fast lebendig. Jede Bewegung ließ ihn sanft über ihre Haut gleiten, wie eine Erinnerung, die noch nicht verblasst war.

Ihr Spiegelbild zeigte eine andere Version ihrer selbst – eine, die längst verschwunden war. Die schwarzen Locken waren hochgesteckt, doch ein paar widerspenstige Strähnen hatten sich gelöst, tanzten auf ihrem Nacken. Ihre Wangen waren leicht gerötet, ihre Lippen umspielte ein kaum merkliches Lächeln.

Und dann war da Baptiste.

Seine leuchtenden blauen Augen fixierten sie – so intensiv, so unverhohlen, dass sie für einen Moment glaubte, die Welt könnte sich wirklich nur um sie beide drehen.

Er lächelte – dieses spitzbübische, ungeduldige Lächeln – und streckte die Hand aus.

Sie ließ ihre Hand in seine gleiten.

Er zog sie zu sich, hielt sie fest, als würde er sie nie wieder loslassen wollen.

Der Raum um sie herum verblasste.

Musik. Stimmen. Gelächter. Sie existierten noch – aber gedämpft, fern, bedeutungslos. Es gab nur ihn. Nur seine Nähe.

Tanzend, eng aneinandergeschmiegt. Seine Hände ruhten sicher auf ihren Hüften, warm, besitzergreifend. Seine Lippen streiften ihren Nacken, langsam, fast andächtig. Ein sanftes Lächeln, ein Flüstern –

Versprechen, die süß klangen, betörend, wie Honig, der auf ihrer Zunge zerging.

"Wir für alle Zeit."

Und in dieser Nacht fühlte es sich an, als wäre sie zum ersten Mal nicht allein.

Dann – ein Geräusch.

Die Eingangstür ging knarzend auf, die Glocke bimmelte leise.

Die Wärme seiner Berührung schwand.

Der samtige Stoff wurde wieder fremd, nur noch Stoff, nur noch Erinnerung.

Ihre Finger lösten sich hastig von dem Kleid, als hätte es sie verbrannt.

Sie blinzelte, atmete flach, ihr Brustkorb hob und senkte sich unruhig. Ein unmerkliches Zittern rann durch ihre Hände.

Der Geschmack von damals lag noch immer auf ihrer Zunge – süß und bitter zugleich.

Sieg schmeckte nach Blut.

Liebe nach Verrat.

Und Samt... Samt schmeckte nach Erinnerungen, die sie lieber vergessen hätte.

Soft and cool velvet ruched between his fingers. It brought him back to her like a scent, like a cloud of her perfume in passing. She wore simple, practical clothing at all times, but luxuriated in velvet in her bed chamber. Memories of a deep night-blue coverlet of velvet draped over them both, the heat of her skin and the hot smell of their lovemaking in the room, settling like dust. Velvet and skin. The sheen of her auburn hair in the candlelight. The softness of her lips, just as velvety. God, how one sensation could bring such powerful memories. He had lived in poverty most of his life--poverty of means and poverty of spirit. But in the palace of her bed chamber he's felt like a king. A soft warm bed and the most incredible woman he had ever known, both his. For a time. Even then, running the velvet through his hands and remembering all that had happened, he still could not fogive her. He understood why she had done it. Frankly, if he had been in a similar position with similar resources at his disposal, he wasn't sure he would have done differently. But he would have ASKED her. He would have talked to her first, to learn and understand her feelings about such an... execution. For that is what it was. She had executed a criminal in the most disarming way possible. She had drained the life from him while his guard was down. But it was the way she had done it without a moment's consideration for him that had soured it all.

Crushed velvet Remember that night You dealt it Then you took flight

“Russet or sunburst, I’m thinking autumnal with a cottage core vibe,” Hanna said.

“Like orange. This isn’t Halloween, sweetheart. Orange isn’t for weddings. How about petal pink? What do you think Helena? Look at this one,” Mrs. Carmody said.

An confection of pink tulle and satin was thrust into Helena’s face. She fumbled with the bridesmaid’s dress. She was supposed to be the buffer between her baby sister and her sister’s future mother-in-law. Hanna’s face was flushed as Mrs. Carmody selected another pink dress. This one was a mass of bubblegum ruffles.

“Halloween! Look this is my wedding.”

Hoisting the two gowns up like a fluffy barrier, Helena separated the women before sparks began to fly. The bridal shop clerk hurried over with a distraction of cold cheap white wine. Helene ditched the dresses and hustled her sister towards the cocktail dresses. In a flurry of crepe and georgette, Hanna was venting. Helena’s face hurt from fake smiling. Nodding, Helena made soothing noises. The clerk and her mom were running interference to prevent Allan’s mother from sharing her suggestions with Hanna.

She brushed against crushed velvet. I should be bridal dress shopping, Helena thought. The image of Michael made her fingers clench the fabric. She felt his hands sliding up her back when they met at Skyline. Helena was wearing her favorite shirt dress, midnight blue velvet. Michael couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Brilliant and beautiful, Helene remembered shimmering under his gaze as they talked all night. He wouldn’t let her wear that dress anymore. Said she looked like a whore. She looked around nervously before forcing herself to smile again. It’s okay, we’re okay. He let me come dress shopping with my family. Things are fine, she thought.

“That’s pretty, I guess. It would compliment the auburn tea roses.”

The sound of her baby sister’s voice brought Helena back to the present. The entire wedding party had gathered around her and the dusty plum gown crushed in her hands. Mrs. Carmody was droning on about baby’s breath. The clerk showed up with mimosas. Her mom tried to catch Helena’s eye, wanting to say something, anything to her girl. Helena hurried deeper into the rows.