This is what happens when I have a sore throat and I'm bored in maths class...
The palace hallway was light and quiet, the bright afternoon sun invading from the windows, and the only thing disturbing the silence was the sound of two white heels constantly clicking against the plain marble floor.
Lady Marissa, beauteous and gracious as ever, walked the hall with a small smile on her rosy lips. Her blonde hair as elegant as ever and her gown in the prettiest tone of green, the former queen relished the freedom she now had from all the duties she had had to perform for about twenty years. Half of the time had been clouded by a dark shadow of grief for Marissa, but fate had decided to have mercy on her poor soul, and now Marissa's life was utter bliss—almost.
Having reached her destination, Marissa moved to open the door to her daughter's sitting room, stopping only when she heard the voices inside the room. She hadn't thought the queen would be there at this busy hour, yet her voice was unmistakable. It had always warmed Marissa's heart to hear her daughter speak, to hear her laugh, or sing. Now, however, hers was not the only tone that could bring this loving spark into Marissa's heart and into her eyes.
"Was grandma always so quiet?"
The small inquisitive tone that had always brought a smile on Marissa's lips now made her smile falter.
"No, not always," replied the young queen, and Marissa thought she could hear a certain tone of sorrow in her voice. "She had the most beautiful voice in the world," continued the queen, and Marissa could almost see her daughter staring off into the distance dreamily. "And she sang... like an angel."
Against her own will, Marissa's thoughts travelled back to the time when she had sung her lullaby to her daughter by the little princess's cradle—and to the day she had, by singing that very same song, been reunited with her long lost child after years of living apart. Tears prickled at her eyes when Marissa thought of how she had sung at her daughter's wedding. Her mind set before her eyes the scenes of herself whispering endearments to her loved ones, that angelic voice ringing in her ears like the softest of melodies.
"Why doesn't she sing now?" The small innocent voice brought Marissa back to Earth. Now more than ever before Marissa wished she could sing for the little girl.
The queen's sigh was heavy before she answered. "Some years ago—you were no more than a babe then—she fell ill," the young woman explained the sad story, "—very ill. It was a miracle that she lived through it at all."
Marissa remembered her days of illness vaguely—they were a blur of excruciating pain, cold, and the worried faces of her loved ones. Even now she could still feel the touch of her husband's hand holding hers—tightly enough to be assured that he would not let God take her away from him.
"But she lost her voice."
Taking in a shaky breath, Marissa turned away from the door. She could listen to this no more. As it would seem it was not enough that she had tried to put the past behind herself. It would always haunt her, no matter what.
It had been terrible for her at first—the silence. Marissa had not been used to it anymore, not after her daughter had returned. It had been unbearable to not be able to utter a word of love to those she cherished. She hadn't been able to sing the little princess to sleep, nor tell her own daughter how proud she was of her.
Marissa backed away from the door and into the arms of her husband. In surprise she turned around, and looking up at the lord's face, caught his concerned gaze. Oh, how much Marissa wished she could tell him that she was all right! But from between her trembling lips not a sound could escape. Marissa tried to reassure him of her well-being with her gaze but tears betrayed her feelings, as she looked up at her beloved husband whom she could only greet with silence.
Despair now written all across her face, Marissa ceased to fight the tears. She cast herself into her husband's embrace, burying her worn face in his coat.
The lord wrapped his strong arms around Marissa in a safe embrace. He had always been there for his wife, calm and steady, a safe haven from the mad world. He held his wife for a long moment, calming the weeping lady with gentle caresses and silent support.
"God has been gracious to you," he whispered to the small woman in his arms. "But life has been cruel."
The End