Smell of Roses

Sometimes it’s hard to shake the feelings that weigh heavy on your heart from a past you can never forget no matter how hard you run. Alone, cold, wet and starving. Rain pattering outside the earth made shelter of stone. Wet muddy ground blanketed by a thin layer of wet slimy leaves, this was all there was. Wet brown hair matted and dirty clung to the equally dirty skin of what looked to be a young teen female. Clothing made of deer leather hand made by the girl roughly sewn, no shoes on dainty feet. Sitting on a Rock to elevate from the muck of the ground the girl pulled her knees to her chest, a blooming body stunted in its prime from the harshness of the reality of the world. Eyes dull and devoid of the spark of life closed and a soft breath left cracked lips. Was the end near? A mercy given from the earth to a tormented soul? The pain of hunger a distant memory for a belly with no strength to growl.

The sounds of feet in the mud, horse’s heavy breaths. Snorting and shouting; none were coming for her this day no likely just men heading home after a hunt only to get caught in this god forsaken rain. Who would come for a dirty child, whose greatest sin was being born into a world that hated what her father was. A defeated breath and a choked sob. Somebody anybody… come for me, the sob only serving as a tool to further chip at the frozen cracking heart. A small hand gripping tight leather feeling the slow and dim beat of a heart that just wished for an end.

“Is anyone in there?” a soft voice, a genderless voice called into the mouth of the cave.

Just a dream, nobody would come. The girl let herself have this dream this wonderful hallucination. “Yes,” a word spoken so hoarsely and tight. The word like a beg for reality to stay at bay and let the voice speak once more. No light to see, eyes still closed.

Footsteps splashing in the muck, a heavy boot. “Are you hurt?” the voice again so wonderful to hear a breath trapped by a chocked sob the hallucination continues. “It’s ok,” the voice beckoned her.

Hurt? Was she hurt? Pain, a useless thing to think on when you feel it so often it is what you are accustomed to. “Hurt,” the word sounded almost like a curse “What use does a weapon have for pain?” that’s right she wasn’t even a person a being. She was a weapon. Trained to be a killer and taught to not care. Her sins lay out for her to see even with her eyes closed. She grit her teeth as she smelled the blood. She could almost feel the blood that was staining her soul. Warm and sticky, it clumped in awful piles of rot.

“I see no weapon here,” the voice said again a hand with long fingers touched a cold wet cheek. The hallucination is real? Dare she even hope for such a thing? “I’m going to pick you up,” the voice said. The girl tensed when she was indeed moved into thin but somehow strong arms. Roses, the clean smell of roses.
“You will get dirty,” a weak voice warned the person who lifted her.

“Well then, a bath for us both when we get to safety.” The voice did not seem to care. Chancing it, the girl opened her eyes to see wings, wings as black as the night sky when the moon hid its face. Skin pale as snow and smelling of roses. It was too dark, she was too weak; nothing more could be made out before the black grips of unconsciousness folded over her mind.

Waking, with a fleeting sense of the occurrences before. Wet and cold no more, but warm and surrounded in softness, and a smell of Roses. Eyes opened to dim light from a covered window. It was daytime. Sitting up and looking around to see a simple room with no more than a bed and a chair. Was she dead? Was this the waiting room for the damned? A silly thought, it was far too cozy to be that. Lifting a hand to touch her head to find her hair free of filth and tangle.

“You are awake?” the voice from earlier the girl closed her eyes let it not be a sick dream produced by her tiered mind. There was a new smell in the room chicken and celery with a bit of pepper? Did this black winged savior exist? And more importantly did she smell food? “It’s ok you don’t need to talk, but here, eat something.”

“You are real?” the question sounded as if she did not believe that the person was real. This was a foul and unfair trick.

“I am very much real, my name is Dasuke, do you have a name?” A male’s name, the voice was so soft it could still be a woman.

“You wouldn’t like to hear my name,” the girl said, her name was a curse to her. A reminder of a life she was destined to never have.

“Alright, I shall just call you pup for now then. Here open your mouth, if you are too weak I will feed you.”

“No!” it came out loud and fast. “no… I’ll do it,” softer this time more put together. Opening green eyes once more she could see him out of the corned of her eye. Black wings, he was real. Chancing it she looked to him he had a soft smile gracing lips that looked to belong to a angel and eyes the same bright green as a field of healthy grass, and the pale skin with the smell of roses. She looked at him long and hard he just set the bowl down brown hair falling like silk over a shoulder. The man was petite in stature almost like a woman.

“Thank you,” she was not without manners. A hand took the bowl and brought it to her lap. She never took her eyes off the man as she brought the bowl to her lips to take a sip of the warm and wonderful chicken broth. She almost moaned in pleasure at a taste in her mouth, she could feel the warmth of the liquid slide into her body.

“You are welcome pup,” the man told her and smiled when she almost seemed embarrassed by the endearment attached to a nickname like that.

“Shania… my name,” the girl said and tensed expecting hatred and malice to bubble up instead she got a soft pat on the head.

“Welcome to my home Shania, please stay as long as you like.”