I came up with this Tale of Navel snippet in response. It seems appropriate, considering what's happening in Unwilling to Be Yours at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com today.
I once tried to detect hidden shapes in the twists and curves of every carving on the doorway.
Perhaps something living was inside the wood. Trapped, struggling to be free from a former tree’s innards.
The tree might have devoured someone. The way my aunt devoured her victims behind closed doors.
Boys, idealized youths willing limbs to stretch out from the confines of the carving. Maidens who writhed within the frame, casting wistful, unseeing eyes down in a submissive fashion no lady ever would.
“This doorway is a reminder of where we came from.” Vanessa tossed her raven locks over her shoulder, affecting an air of knowledge I didn’t trust.
Surrounded by ornamentation, Van took it all for granted. It didn’t matter to her where it came from.
“No arachnocrat will ever allow herself to return to the place our foremothers came from.” Safe in rhetoric our mentors loved to spout, she found it easy to come up with an explanation behind the door. “It stands here as a monument to their suffering.”
“Why worry about it? Although it’s a beautiful door.” Melyssa was quick to avert her eyes from it, once I drew her attention to it. “Don’t dwell on the details, Damian. You’ll attract attention.”
My cousin’s fingers twitched, although she only had ten of them. No more than I did. She glanced over her shoulder.
Only Christopher enjoyed gazing at the door as much as I did.
“Leaves and berries are carved within the wood.” He’d lay his hands against the frame, even nestle his cheek against it.
I watched him, my heart beating a little faster. I wondered if he could sense what I did. The shapes yearning to be set free.
“Everything is connected within this pattern.” He drew away to cock his head to one side. “I wonder what it means?”
“Why dwell on the details of the doorway?” My aunt loomed over us, imperious, impatient in her disapproval. “Think of its greater purpose.”
“It’s an exit or an entrance.” With slow reluctance, I drew my attention from the frame to the darkness in the center. “A portal leading somewhere else.”
“It’s not a doorway, but a Doorway.” Duessa shivered. The hairs on four of her arms stirred, rising.
Well, well. My interest tingled at her apprehension. This Doorway was something my aunt feared. Or at least was wary of.
“Doors can take you to other places, other worlds.” Duessa reached out to cup my cheek with one of her hands. “The truly strong can remake these world in their image.” Longing made her breath catch, escaping in the softest moan.
I stared at the Doorway, for one moment, sharing my aunt’s longing.
After she took Christopher from me, that longing grew. To remake a world in my image.
I could create a place where there were no more marriage feasts. Where I could find Christopher again.
Where I was strong enough to never have to submit to Duessa’s will ever again. Where I could face her myself without having to lean on a lady in order to do it.
Yes, the thought was tempting. Very tempting, indeed.
Cool photo and awesome tale!
ReplyDeleteThank you! The photo was provided by the awesome Paula Wyant, who offers writing prompts every Wednesday at ptwyant.com, Wednesday Words. The tale was mine, though. ;) Lovely to have you stop by! (hugs)
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