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Click hereThose scarlet roses mock her, now. They are as shameful to her as they would be to her husband. She banishes them from her mind but like that Grecian monster they grow back more plentiful than the last, and she weeps until the fire in the fireplace is reduced to naught but glowing embers.
Why is it that we only realize our sin when we commit a deed that is condemned by society? Have we not sinned before then? Accumulated and counted, would not those sins amount to worse than the one everyone else sees? Why is it that we choose to see that one sin, but not all the others, and compare them in scale and amplitude to determine who is to blame?
These questions plague Florence's mind after that evening in Maura's chambers. And Lady Maura's miserable eyes upon her, shrouded in guilt only she seems to notice, are like the bellows to those questions. They flare and flame like that fire and demand to be answered, but Florence has no answer. She thought she abandoned religion when she abandoned Halifax, but she finds herself turning to God again, though her questions are not kind.
Should anyone ever be kind to God? Florence thinks not. She gets angry with Him often, shouts at Him and curses Him in her mind, curses Him for bringing Margaret into her life, curses Him for making her discover her inclinations, curses Him for making her so gentle, curses Him for making her like a moth to a flame, drawn to the suffering of others.
Perhaps no human is to blame for all the sins they strike in their souls. Perhaps God is the one to blame.
Florence and Lady Maura never speak a word more than necessary to each other. But in their eyes they are exchanging volumes, whispers and moans and kisses and misery. They both beg, but neither of them is willing to give in. Mr. Daugherty continues to be a repeat offender adulterer, but Lady Maura is not going to become any more like him. Florence can tell. There is still a shred of dignity in her brown eyes.
But the desperation grows like a wild, thorny bush in Lady Maura, and when those thorns tear apart her dignity far beyond repair, Florence knows—knows—as she takes a deep breath to settle the twist in her stomach—that she will be there for Lady Maura to fall into sin again.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousalmost 9 years agoYour satory, as a story of a sexual encounter is very good.
For me (albeit a male) though, it is a brilliant illustration of why I, brought up as a Christian, am now a Pagan.
The Christian God is the biggest bastard, tyrant and hypocrite ever in recorded history.
Arago007almost 9 years agoA weird combination of HOT and SAD. Beautifully written with really well developed characters for such a short piece of work. The religious aspect was thought provoking, so thank you for that. I wish there wasn't such a finality to their misery, that you had left a door open for a better ending.
I would love to read more of your writing.
germanchocolate4ualmost 9 years agoIncredible story!! The writing, the attention to detail in this period piece from philosophies to women clothing, to the development of the characters is intricate perfection. Oh, the webs we weave! I'm looking forward to part 2.
SomethingWitchy indeed. Great work
Anonymousalmost 9 years agoI say wow too. Really like this. Now for Chapter 2 - let Mr. be caught red-handed. Then the truce is struck - he can philander, but must allow the Mrs. and servant theirs as well. A little cuckholding. All private and such. No divorce. Separate bedrooms. Then let the two lovers find their peace and end their misery. Let joy spring forth in a confident truth.
goldrattealmost 9 years agoThank you for posting this work of art. I enjoyed reading it very much! Your style of writing appears very sophisticated and the work laid out very well. I also enjoyed the unconventional setting of the story!
