Young Writers Society

Chapter III- Violet

Sleep had never come to Violet easily. Considering the day’s events, that wasn’t surprising.

Her mind would not shut up.

Lying in bed, she could only stare at the ceiling. A lantern flickered on her nightstand, almost in code. It sent the still shadows quivering, flashing. Violet could picture them recoiling away from her in distaste, sneers painted on their faces.

The image of Abaron Howell’s death was forever seared into her memory.

Violet remembered his family. The children. Where were they now? The thought of them coming back to their own home to find nothing but a pool of blood in their father’s place sent a wave of bile up her throat.

Violet kicked off her blankets and stood, darting over to her window. Desperate for air, she pulled back the curtains and pushed open the shutters. A caressing breeze blew in, cooling her cheeks and lifting a sizeable weight off her chest. She let out a breath. Inhaled the crisp scent of rain.

Then she realized what she’d forgotten.

Violet couldn’t stomach putting on her day clothes again- she imagined they smelled like death. Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she slipped on her boots. Her hair was a rumpled mess, sucking in the humidity from the storm and curling in the worst places. There would be no hope in fixing it.

As she stood, ready to leave, she opened her armoire and grabbed one last thing. A glass jar, no bigger than her palm. She unscrewed the top, setting the lid aside. Inside, one of her most valuable possessions. A pale cream that matched her skin tone.

Concealer. For those rare times when she didn’t want to be known, when she refused to be labeled by her Mark.

Violet dipped a finger in the jar, then dabbed it over her Mark, slowly, carefully making her identity disappear.

Tonight, her sins would be known by her, and her alone.

Her Mark gone, Violet proceeded to put away the concealer.

She left her room and stepped into the corridor, ready.

***

Violet walked over to the Canopy, quickly. She didn’t know how much longer she could take this, being alone with her thoughts. The night was so silent it was suffocating.

Admittedly, being exposed to the night air was a tremendous boost to her positivity. If it could be considered a boost… More like a distraction. Galia was known for its incredible night skies, and whoever had built the royal palace had used that to their advantage.

Trees lined the courtyard pathway, rustling gently in the drifting wind. The gardeners had planted rings of flowers around each tree as little bursts of life and color. Each of these trees bloomed fantastically over the spring, so gorgeous that rumors of this very pathway stretched out of Galia and across the land. The flowers were the same story, with their woven colors like a blanket of sunsets, jewels, and butterfly wings. To ensure top notch performance, the royals ordered a beekeeper over the entire courtyard during the summer and spring. Wealthy people came from all over just to get a taste of the dream-like colors.

Now, in late summer, autumn licked at the flowers’ petals and began to feed on the green in the trees’ leaves. Everything looked a bit drained of life, on their last hurrah before passing on to bare branches and frosted yellow leaves.

Here, in the dark of night, the legendary flowers and trees were nothing but rustling shadows.

The Canopy came into view like a wooden fortress. It was the land’s largest and richest orchard, famous for its cherries, pears, and apples. It was usually empty until the Harvest, when the gardeners would begin their months-long journey of picking fruit and selling it on the high-profile markets. Which made it the perfect spot for meeting up with Xander.

Violet found him by a ginormous cherry tree, sitting in a crook between branches. The tree’s blossoms were beginning to turn, losing their life and dissolving to the ground. Xander’s long form was sprawled just a few feet away, back facing her. He was dressed in a simple long-sleeved shirt, trousers, and white gloves. His dark hair, normally tamed and straight, was now wavy and unruly. She could picture his nervous tics, the gloved hands running through his hair, the pacing.

Swallowing back tears, she lowered her hood, taking a breath. In her hand she held two scraps of paper. Notes, scrawled in the same messy handwriting she’d been seeing for years. Both from Xander. She’d missed both of their meetings earlier that day. Being two hours late for their last meeting of the day sent a surge of guilt through her, though she wasn’t sure why.

“You should be asleep,” Violet said, stepping forward. She clasped her shaking hands together. No, she wouldn’t break down here. Not now.

Xander casually spun around, dropping from his branch. He raised an eyebrow. “She’s alive!” A grin shone across his features.

Something inside Violet broke. She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, tumbling down her cheeks. It felt like her lungs were being crushed; she couldn’t breathe. She raised a hand to her mouth, as if that could stop the emotion from coming.

Xander’s concern rolled over his features like clouds covering the sun. He wrapped her in an embrace. “What happened?” He took a step back, meeting her eyes. “Violet, talk to me-”

The weight of his blue gaze was simply too much. Xander may have looked like he could withstand the end of the world. One look at his eyes and you’d be convinced that he already had.

But could he take this?

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Violet choked out. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.” She resisted the urge to wipe her tears. Her concealer was not waterproof. One smudge, and he’d know. He’d see her Mark. Xander would hate her, just like everyone else. What was she doing here? He couldn’t know what she’d done, what she was capable of.

Xander simply brought her close again. Violet rested her head on his shoulder briefly. He was like a stone foundation in the face of a deadly storm. In his arms, she felt safe. She couldn’t recall feeling like that anywhere else.

Of course, she wasn’t the one who needed protecting.

Violet pulled away. She was a weapon, a concealed knife. She was unpredictable and untrustworthy. What an idiot she was, putting herself near the one person she actually cared about.

She took a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Xander pressed his lips together. “For what? For coming to me?” He shook his head. “I’m your friend, Violet. I am always here for you.”

“You don’t understand-” She stopped herself. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m not… me anymore.”

“I’ve known you my whole life. I’ve seen every version of you there is to see.”

Violet took a breath. “It’s not like that.”

Xander was silent. She wasn’t telling him everything, and he knew it. “You don’t have to talk,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip. “It’s… it’s about my Mark, Xander.”

In that instant, his entire composition changed. He straightened, almost rigid. The lantern he must have set up sent shattered pieces of light into his eyes, sparking and flickering. They were piercing. The dim light made him look harsher than he really was, features sharp and high cheekbones harrowed. In one moment he was suddenly a living marble sculpture. All hard edges.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, soothing. “I understand.”

Violet clenched her teeth, sealed her mouth shut. It was better this way.

They had kept their Marks hidden from each other for as long as she could remember. She could remember coming to the Canopy as a child, sick of trying to be her Mark, fleeing from her lessons and everyone’s high expectations. Violet had been taught how to use concealer that day, and she couldn’t bear to take it off.

Xander run to the Canopy that day, too. He had been in tears- the one and only time Violet had ever seen him cry. That day they had decided from then on that their Marks were meaningless when it came to their friendship. Xander wore his gloves and long-sleeved shirts, Violet wore her concealer. That had always been the way of things.

They had both had so much more in common that day than they could ever imagine.

“I don’t feel like me anymore.” Violet could hear her pulse in her ears, louder than the crickets and the rustling leaves overhead. She let the breeze dry her tears. She felt so weak, so vulnerable. She was breaking down in front of her only friend. Could she trust him? It had always been carefully guarded barriers and positive conversation with Xander. Precise movements.

Here she was, being rash and destructive. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had broken anything.

Xander hopped onto the cherry tree branch again, gesturing to the space beside him.

Violet gathered her wits and took a seat. She leaned back, and they were shoulder to shoulder. “Tell me a joke,” she blurted, maintaining a casual balance in her voice. She cringed inwardly at her demanding tone. Yes, Violet, you certainly make up for your emotional instability with that charming charisma.

“A joke?”

Violet shifted toward him, pasting on a smirk. “Don’t act so surprised. A joke, a riddle… I know, deep, deep down you have some small sense of humor in you.”

Xander gave her a sideways smile. “About time you noticed,” he said.

And the night went on.

Slowly, Violet’s guilt began to fade. She could close her eyes and breathe, and Abaron Howell’s death would only be faint. It never left her. She didn’t want it to.

Violet refused to forget.