Winnie Foster trod, almost staggering, into her small bedroom. It smelled strongly of the soap the maid used to wash the bed sheets – lavender, mingled with bleach. The floral printed curtains hung in front of the window almost forebodingly, shielding the room from what moonlight there was, which was in actuality, not very much. With a sigh, she dropped onto the bed with its stiff white bed sheets.

Her ten-year-old mind found it a tad hard to process Tuck's words to her that day on the pond, though she could remember it very well.

It's a wheel, Winnie. Everything's a wheel, turning and turning, never stopping.

She tried to imagine her dull, monotonous life at home as a wheel - her mother and father awaking at precisely seven in the morning, shuffling, yawning to the kitchen where their coffee would be ready. The 'clink clink' of the delicate tea spoons tapped against the edge of the cup. Then soon after, her grandmother would awaken and call for her mother.

In a way, it was. The wheel would keep up its endless circles, turning and turning, always the same. Everyone, everything was part of it, even the tea-spoons. But never the same ones. That was the way it was supposed to be.

Winnie was wont to rules. It was forbidden to eat anywhere save for the sitting room, living room, dining room and the kitchen. It was forbidden to interfere if anyone else was talking. It was forbidden to wear anything but white on Sundays.

It was supposed to be, these rules. Leastways, they were supposed to be so in the house. Winnie had grown up with the phrase 'supposed to be'. It was her discipline, her guideline to becoming what her mother called a fine young lady.

And if she drank the water, she'd drop off the wheel, not only the wheel of the household, but also the supreme, prime wheel of life. And that…that wasn't supposed to be.

That phrase – without it, she'd lose her discipline. She'd lose the lines she had so carefully trod upon, never falling off. It scared her. Wasn't this what she had been hankering after for the past ten years – freedom?

It was just like…like an exercise book. She needed the lines so that she could write neatly and properly. Without the lines, it'd be like a sketchbook. She could write or draw anything there. But she didn't know what. Self contradiction was the hardest thing to contradict, Winnie decided.

But Winnie longed for Jesse. It didn't seem right. In physical appearance, they were seven years apart. In literal expression, they were ninety-four years apart. Surely, with such a large age difference, they couldn't possibly be together?

And did she really love him? He was the prime reason she was even considering drinking the water. What if halfway, she discovered that she didn't love him anymore? Or worse, what if he didn't love her anymore? In both cases, she would have given up her mortality for nothing. And she was only ten. Could a ten year old girl like her be capable of true love?

Winnie sighed. This was a lot for her to think about, considering her age. An image of Jesse's golden brown face appeared, as if by a whim, in her mind. You have six years to think about it, he seemed to mouth.

Yes, there were six years. But Winnie felt if she didn't sort this out now, she'd keep putting it off until Jesse came – if he did come -, and she'd make a wrong, hasty decision. This needed real thinking, heavy and overwhelming, the type that gave you headaches.

Honestly, was it love, or lust?

Jesse did come. When Winnie was seventeen, that is. He brought her to the woods, where they would talk, and perhaps he'd bring her away.

The sun rode high in the sky, slanting through the trees. Wind rustled the leaves, trees whispered secrets only their kind could understand. He took her hand in his. Hers was smooth and soft; it reminded him of milk and butter. His was slightly callused, but only slightly, and warm. Both loved the feel of being hand in hand with each other. If Winnie had ever doubted of their love, like she had when she was ten, all doubts were erased at that moment.

But Winnie knew that they'd never be together – get married, that is. She didn't tell him immediately, though. Only a fool would want to spoil a moment like that.

"I've missed you so much, Winnie," he sighed. He observed her fondly. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty undiminished. She was a child no longer. She was a…a lady.

"Me too," she whispered so softly, that if Jesse had not been listening, waiting for her reply, he wouldn't have heard her.

"Have you… drunk the water?"

Winnie looked down, shamefaced. The inevitable question had come, and she had even prepared an optimistic reply to it, but at the moment her mind was utterly blank. She managed to shake her head.

He gazed at her anxiously. "Do you want to drink it?"

Her mouth hung open just a bit, and she met Jesse's fervent blue eyes, filled with unquenchable restlessness. She'd made the decision years ago, so why was she so hesitant this time?

"I don't think so," she choked, struggling to hold back tears.

For a moment, his face was impassive. Then she felt hot, stinging drops stream from her eyes, making runnels down her face. Why was she crying? Jesse didn't even seem angry.

She still hadn't learnt to expect the unexpected – Jesse placed his arms around her, and then held her close to him. Her tears ceased soon after, but still he held her in his embrace.

"Pa told me what to expect. I didn't get my hopes too high, either. It's ok if you won't drink…"

She sniffed, hiccupping randomly, and held him even tighter. "You don't understand," she whispered, "Even if I want to, I can't. They've betrothed me to another man ten years my senior. I can't escape. It wouldn't be right. And…and my family would be shamed beyond shame if I did."

Jesse didn't know what emotion to concentrate on. He was feeling…everything. Fear for Winnie, anger, distress, and crushed hope. Emily Bronte once wrote in a poem:

Hope, whose whisper would have given,

Balm to all my frenzied pain,

Spread her wings and flew to heaven,

Went, and ne'er returned again!

It was sorrowful enough that he couldn't have Winnie, but to let another man have her! God, where was the justice of it all?

"I love you, I really do," she continued, "Perhaps since as early as when I first met you…"

Winnie trailed off, and then buried her head in his chest. How unfair the world was, she felt. She was startled when he put a finger under her chin and forced her head up so her eyes would meet his. And once they did, neither of them could look away.

Closer and closer they came together, till their heads were barely an inch apart… Winnie had never seen Jesse this close before, and he looked gorgeous. She could feel his body pressed against hers, hers against his, and then…

Jesse noted that Winnie was so much more beautiful than she had been six years ago. Yes, she had been pretty then, but now she seemed…grown up, whereas in the past she had that…aura, an aura of a child. He was surprised at how nervous, yet blissful he felt as they drew closer…

Their lips met in a mental flurry of confusion, nervousness, and love. Butterflies flitted about in their stomachs, sparks flew…

His hands slid to her waist, and hers ran through his golden brown curls. The sensation was simply, purely, and blissfully magical. If only that one kiss would last forever.

Forever.

They kissed with such passion impossible to describe aptly, passion that made their cheeks burnish as if with fire and that drew sighs of pleasure from them. Intense desire, intense love, both coursed through their veins.

Seventeen was old enough to love someone, Winnie decided, but what a pity…

They broke apart. "Must you really?" he asked her. Winnie cringed inwardly at his tone. It was pitiful, almost…pleading.

She looked down. It was a rhetorical question. She need not answer. She looked up again into his eyes after a while. God, would she ever stop missing him?

Jesse gripped her hand tightly. "I'll always love you, Winnie Foster," he said boldly, "I'll love you till the wheel stops spinning."

Winnie bit her lip, looked skywards, and noticed the slanting afternoon sun with disappointment. "I must go, Jesse," she stated tearfully.

Tears dangled at the edge of her eyes, then fell mercilessly. One by one, rolling down her cheek like pearls…

Rolling, like a wheel…

A wheel.

"Will I ever see you again?" she whispered. The sky was starting to darken.

"Maybe," he said pensively, "I hope so." With a dramatic turn of the weather, lightning flashed, cutting across the sky, a livid white streak. Thunder boomed loudly.

"Goodbye, Winnie. May we meet again."

With a final caress of her cheek and a chaste kiss on her lips, he turned and walked away slowly, the young raindrops spilling down upon him. She could still remember his touch, the burning passion of young love.

Jesse was gone.

She turned and walked away too.