The sky was dark that night, unusually dark for even Purgatory. The night was Jarah's favorite time of the day, when the stars would burst into life and shine brightly, as if to make up for the lack of a sun. It was much brighter during the night, a beautiful paradox that comforted the citizens and unnerved visitors.
Jarah supposed it was a somewhat twisted form of poetic justice that on this night of all nights, even the stars failed to shine. She tilted her head upwards, breath forming clouds of mist on the clean glass of the window, watching fat snowflakes thundering towards the ground. Distant screams of delight echoed against the window, and she glanced down at the palace courtyard, just visible from her angle. The servants and the children were happily playing in the snow, not minding the near-blizzard conditions.
It was the first white Christmas anybody could remember in a long time. Of course everybody would be happy and outside, playing with wild abandonment in a winter wonderland, where the soft white wind blew away worries and resentment like magic.
Maybe I should go outside, too. Maybe Iskah and I could have a snowball fight or something, like when we were little. Maybe that magic can make me happy, too, she thought. For a moment, she was tempted to jump to her feet, tempted by the promise of joy and not-unhappy feelings. But she caught sight of herself in the glass's reflection, all dressed up in black (even though she didn't feel like wearing such a depressing color, but it's Aros' favorite color, you know), with a lavish Christmas dinner laid out on the table behind her (she'd made it herself, because it was for him), and the room littered with candles and roses. Her heart sank.
Yes, maybe it was her fault for marrying a man who didn't care quite as much as she'd like. But she didn't think so. How could it be her fault? She couldn't control whom she fell in love with. Love took no commands, and the misfortune that she had fallen (and fallen quite hard) for a man she knew wasn't all he seemed was quite irrelevant to the fact that it existed. Not everybody could have a good person to care for. And while Jarah didn't really think Aros was a bad person, no matter how much Iskah tried to convince her of the contrary, she didn't think she wanted to be confronted with it either.
She wanted to be blind, blissfully blind to his shortcomings and just be happy with what he did have to offer her, and she knew theirs was an arranged marriage and he had no obligation to give her such an intimate kind of happiness- but, she thought plaintively, pressing her forehead against the cold window, was it really too much to ask to come home to her on Christmas day?
Aros stood outside the door to his wife's chambers, hand on the doorknob. He didn't particularly want to do this, but-
"I know you don't love her, and I don't think you really care about her at all either," Prince Iskah Ashcroft said to him, "but I'm asking you to at least go see her tonight." And he had laughed internally, remembering how only hours before he had dreamt of the death of this man- no, boy- that he hated so, so much. He smiled blandly. "Our marriage does not concern you." The Prince gave him a cold look. "You owe her that much, Aros," he reminded him.
Yes, he supposed he did. But really, the woman should have had more sense than to trust him, he thought. But then, he thought, it's not as if either of them had a choice, really. He opened the door and stepped inside.
His eyes roved over the Christmas decorations and the table laid with heavy platters of turkey, potatoes, fruits, and vegetables. They were all cold, now.
He took in the sight of his wife sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the sky covered with dark clouds. She was wearing black, and it made him feel slightly guilty, because she knew black was his favorite color, but he didn't really know hers. Had she ever told him?
"Yes," Jarah said absently, fingers tracing pictures into the misted glass. "It's orange. And yes, you really are that obvious."
He started, but quickly composed himself again. "You don't miss a thing, do you?" he asked smoothly, closing the door behind him.
Jarah gave him an unreadable look, but didn't reply. He ignored the obvious message, opting instead to move closer to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she unwittingly shuddered.
He bent down to kiss her, and she closed her eyes against the burn of salty water and thought fiercely, yes, this is love.