She was beautiful, her hands loosely curled into fists. The babe had screamed when we met, as though she was being the announcing trumpets to a grand entrance. Her eyes were closed now, but I knew when they opened eyes the colour of blue midnight would watch me with an intensity I had never encountered before. In time, she would gurgle and laugh, chirp at me when I seemed too far away for her liking. She loved to watch the birds, resting on a blanket to smile and wave tiny fingers at crows and bluebirds alike.
Adela was her name, her every living moment resting on me. I was her knight in shining armour, her favourite blanket, her night-light. And there she lay, content in my arms.
Her mother had cried too. She had wept and wept until her eyes were ringed with red. She had been a small woman, her enchanting midnight blue eyes staring off into the distance. She too had been beautiful, brown curls bouncing out of the tight bun at the back of her head.
Her name had been leant to her daughter, a silent acknowledgement of her own voice being screamed one last time, and my timeless love.
The child would never know how her father had struck a deal for his daughter’s safety. Would never know her father as intimately as I had. Would never know the warm touch of his skin, the way his hazel eyes rested on her lovingly.
But I did. I knew what it was to place a hand on his shoulder.
And slice a freshly sharpened knife across his throat.
But his wife, those eyes tinged with red, now silenced. I left husband and wife lying side by side. She had chosen him over me – such was her choice. I wrapped the child in my cloak, the budding seed of the woman her mother was. A reminder. She was beautiful, her hands loosely curled into fists.
ns 15.158.61.11da2
