There was a shop in Claymatia that sold the most beautiful velvet scarves. It was told that those scarves were made with blood and tears, and velvet divine, by a woman whose heart was smashed to pieces by a man with fire in his eyes.
The tips of my thumbs brushed against its calloused companions. My eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun as I stepped outside. The white washed walls of my apartment had frequently been a glaring sight especially on bright sunny days when the sun shines through the blind less full length windows. That was before. Before the dust coated the windows. Before I was shut inside weaving. Before I closed the door on the world and began laboring on white velvet scarves.
Our eyes met and he beckoned me to come. It has been a while since our eyes met. I remember the first time, and never quite forgot. What has kept us apart for all these years, in this story I tell. I walked up to him and we both walked down towards the harbor. I felt a certain serenity in his presence. I remember when I was but a girl and the flutters that influence the state of my heart stood in between us, and I often distanced myself. The flutters have settled in time, and I am able to discern surely the certain serenity and comfort I feel standing next to him. I did not quite know what to say, so I remained silent. His voice filled the space in my ears and I listened intently to his stories and jokes. I laughed and smiled, and once again our eyes met. I resisted from looking away as his eyes fixed itself upon mine. I checked with my heart. It was still, no flutters, just a deep sense shouting out, I like him. He stopped and looked at me with reassuring glance, that it is only I his eyes are fixed on. I smiled.
There was a time when all my heart knew was pain and I had forgot even the childhood joys I spent in my castle. Broken glass had been the only carpet that laid the floors of my heart, and I closed the door on the world and labored in my room. My room with the white washed walls and the big wooden weaving machine where I sat and labored weaving white velvet scarves.
He laughed out loud and continued talking. There were moments of silences where we would quietly enjoy each other's company and then there was more laughter. Joyful moments. I never want to let this fade. I closed my eyes and breathed in. The air was light and fragrant with freshness. The tips of my right thumb once again brushed against its calloused companions and I smiled. These calloused fingers had once been pretty, but they labored so hard weaving white velvet scarves they bled. One night they bled so hard the white velvet scarf I was weaving, it turned red.
I spoke and began to tell him the story of my days as the velvet scarf weaver. He stopped to look at me and he listened intently. He asked of the days before the door was closed upon the world. And I whispered so softly in his ear, that was when the man with fiery eyes ruled the world. He was a glass breaker that man, and a liar and he captured me from my castle. My father grieved and my brother he set out to rescue me home. The man with fiery eyes he took my heart and crushed it, then he veiled my eyes so I could not see. I could not see my brother when his arms to me he extended. I could not see when my brother grieved as I turned away back into the snare of the man with the fiery stare. My brother he vowed one day to come back, and rescue me home again. I was captured for a while by the mystery of the man, and then my broken heart began to ache for when and where I began. My ears pricked up as I heard the cries of my brother and my father. I closed my eyes and dreamt of my home at the castle and prayed that my father would take me home.
I tried to escape his fiery glare but he was unwilling to let me go.The angry man pursued as I ran and ran until I found before me a white room where he cannot go. I entered it and shut the door and found the only way I could go home was labour in pain at these scarves all night and day. As I weaved and weaved and weaved my fingers they bled. And as my fingers bled, my tears they flowed. I kept weaving scarves all night and day until the white velvet scarves turned red. And I swear they said I wove the best red velvet scarves in the land.
We stopped and he looked at me. The man with fiery eyes have captured many a princesses you see and your brother had continually extended his hand to the maidens the man with fiery eyes had snared. The funny thing was the princesses that took the extended hand, were the ones who wore around their neck red velvet scarves.
I smiled and whispered to him softly. I knew each scarf I weaved in pain were for the ladies who bore much pain.
He reached out his right hand and pulled me closer as he looked into my eyes. And then he kissed me with a kiss that sealed our future together. A kiss that has been a long time coming. A kiss so tender. A certain fear erupted inside and I pulled away to check his eyes. He smiled tenderly as tears flowed down his cheeks. He wrapped a red velvet scarf around my neck and pulled me close again. The man with fiery eyes had long been gone, your father slayed him the day you came home.
He took my hand as we walked on home where the gates were wide open and my brother was waiting with a wide embrace.
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