Before she came here, everyone knew that Muffy was the local hussy. It wasn't a spoken fact; topics of that sort were not and still are not mentioned in Forget-Me-Not Valley. Griffin, the kindhearted man who gave her a home and a job at his bar, grew attached to her as the years she spent in his housing wore on. Predictably, his attachment grew into a deep and obvious love. She toyed with him daily: always wearing short, racy dresses and heels that added four inches to her height and improved her already buxom figure. She could be seen leaning over the counter just so, laughing and flirting, every day. Each man she spoke to, be he married, committed in some way, or otherwise had a hard time upholding his decency when faced with Muffy. Admittedly, she was very pretty and dangerously charming. Yes, Muffy's "charm" was known, but it was never spoken of.
Though Muffy has reigned in her position for many years, when she moved to the valley three years ago, Muffy's rule ended abruptly and with little notice from the villagers.
Her intent was to revitalize the abandoned ranch. No one thought she would last through her first winter; however, she made it to her second spring, and then her third. Her crops rivaled even Vesta's, who was the only farmer in the region worth respecting. I love Vesta the way one would love an aunt. That an inexperienced child should march in like a cockerel, strutting about arrogantly, and destroy Vesta's hard-earned living in such a way…it disgusted me.
While the other locals would shower her with exaltations, I would do my part: smile, nod, agree animatedly; inside I cursed her very existence. I countered the exclamations of how great her crops were with utterances of her seductress ways and her habit of destroying the multiple young loves blooming throughout the valley. Mentally, of course. Her antics brought to mind Scarlett O'Hara; their actions were eerily similar, and their intents probably identical.
It may seem as if my accusations are unfounded; I'd agree if I hadn't witnessed her flagrant advances towards every young man, respectable or otherwise, in the valley.
She began living in the old farmhouse on the first of the year. By the third, she was spending far too much time glancing at Rock, a fancy free blonde and a flirt himself, longingly. She began to follow him to the beach each day, tossing her hair about and batting her lashes like a well seasoned tramp. He was showered with lotions, jewelry, and flowers - all objects that fueled his own vanity - for many months. On more than one occasion I noticed him blushing when she would stand closer to him than decent folk do.
By the end of her first year in the valley, Rock loved her.
She met Kai on the first of summer; he stayed in Forget-Me-Not Valley for one season out of every year and made a living selling typical beach foods until the first autumnal breezes entered the valley. Kai was a charmer armed with all the words girls like her wanted to hear. If he was a master of the game of flirtation, she was the game's creator. With her coveralls cuffed much higher than a respectable woman would dare, she slunk onto the sand each afternoon carrying a fresh pineapple, a fruit for which Kai was particularly weak. Heaven knows how she discovered that. Although most of the residential folk would say otherwise, it was suggested by some gossips - and later verified - that the two of them experienced heavy, indecent nights together when the beach emptied of fishermen and children.
Since he left the valley after only a season each year, she hit some snags in winning Kai's love and oblivious adoration. By some lewd act of the Goddess herself, she somehow managed the feat in two summers.
As her reputation built upon itself, the valley looked the other way.
While she pursued both Kai and Rock, she alsospent her nights gallivanting with a right hellion: the self-proclaimed phantom thief, Skye. He was a handsome devil with a sharp tongue that dripped honey-sweet words and flat praises to all women. Maidens, he called them. Skye was new to the valley, nearly as new as her. Despite that, he wooed nearly every female in Forget-Me-Not Valley. I am loath to admit it, but he entranced even me. It was strange, her snagging of Skye. You see, he was the type of man devoid of emotion. He was purely substantial, simply materialistic. Cold, if you will. Yet somehow she danced and laughed in the moonlight and gave him everything he ever seemed to desire: the perfect recipe for curry. Reformation from his thieving lifestyle. A companion who didn't despise him. A whirlwind romance. Emotion in the form of a harsh and unrequited, deep and stinging love.
Those who had fallen victim to his sly hands silently nodded their approval at her deception, believing that he deserved every moment of despair.
She walked past Marlin on an almost daily basis for two years. With each instance of his being ignored by her, I thanked the Goddess for sparing my fragile, hidden love of the man from becoming a devastated shadow of its former self. For reasons I do not understand, she suddenly began throwing herself at Marlin's feet in her third year occupying the farm.
Until that time I had not truly known fear.
Marlin did not enjoy her company at the start. He knew her for what she was, perhaps because of my insistence on informing him of the matter; however, true to form, she was absolutely relentless. Visiting daily, oftentimes more than once an evening, she always made her presence known. With coy winks and soft-spoken words in his ear, the blasted little tart slowly guided Marlin's hardened heart toward hers. Each night he would frown apologetically in my direction once she left.
The first night that he didn't was the beginning of a long trial for me. Many nights I spent curled into a pathetic, sobbing mess on the floor beneath my bedroom window, hating her with a black fierceness. Marlin was none the wiser. He was besotted, whipped, completely taken with her. Each time she would enter a room he would become instantly incoherent and unintelligible. She would leave him a flustered, red-cheeked mess with a bottle of wine or some other token held in his hands like a prize.
I believe that he loved her more than her other victims were capable of loving.
She was like a catastrophic hurricane tearing through the lives of so many in the valley: mine, Lumina's, Popouri's, and many others, I'm sure. In her wake laid the tattered and broken hopes of such a large number. I hear word that she has started to frequent Gustafa's corner of the universe, his yurt and trees by the swamp. It could be a mere rumor, but I truly doubt it.
You see, nobody lies about the ins and outs and exploits of that terrible woman. The entire valley knows of her unforgivable actions, but in return for her farm's products and her reawakening of Forget-Me-Not's economy, the valley averts its eyes and never speaks an ill word toward her, because it is undeniable to say that everybody, everybody loves Claire.