No one knew why Emma wept at her mother's funeral. No one knew for the same reasons they didn't notice the bruises on her arms or the way her father gripped her arm just a bit too harshly.
The village was a kind place, a place where families were left alone to live happily. This lifestyle was one that Emma had rejoiced in not too long ago, when she too fell blind to the bruised arms and faces that passed her in the marketplace, maintaining her ignorance until they stopped appearing at all, and the happy life of the village was left to continue. Who could blame those blinded by joy for not wishing to peer into the shadows of their own houses?
It was the same blindness that mocked her now, as she learned that her neighbors were not only blind but deaf as well. This was why her mother's sobs went unanswered, as well as Emma's own panicked screams for help. It wasn't until her mother died that Emma and her father became aware of their own dead ears, and realized that they could no longer head the wailing of the child that her mother had died to create.
And so there she stood among her senseless community, who looked on at her shivering as a consequence of the January chill, not realizing it was for fear of when the hand gripping her still finally dragged her back home. The shivering was normal for her now, especially during the cold nights, when she had only her fathers fists to cover her from the chill, and even while wearing the long-sleeved shirts, which she would wear continuously, even through the hottest weeks of August.
Yes, Emma had grown quite used to the cold. This was why the warmth she felt lying still in the alley between the pub and the shops seemed so odd to her. Perhaps it was the whiskey she drank instead of a meal, or maybe it was the blush she still couldn't control when the patrons of the bar copped a feel while she cleared their plates and mugs. That blush of hers always found a way to get her into trouble, caught her in her lies, and convinced suitors that their wandering eyes were welcome. The same suitors that plagued her throughout her shift with invitations back to their beds, and the same ones that she found waiting outside the staff entrance when she finished her shift only 10 minutes ago.
She realized how much can happen in only 10 minutes at roughly the same time she realized where the warmth was coming from, which was a sizable hole in her otherwise multicolored torso, just beneath her right ribcage. The wound fit in quite nicely with the other marks of violence that were scattered over her skin.
As she lay there, the warmth that she had found so much comfort in slowly faded into a chill, which then became numb, a process beginning in her toes and fingers and slowly spreading towards her heart. It was then that her final realization came to her. The fear she had felt so many times before crept back over her and a pitiful sound dragged its way out of her throat, hoping to be a cry, but revealing itself to be a pathetic whimper. Despite herself, her body had no pride and slowly tried to drag itself into the light of the street, hoping to be discovered by the whimper that tore itself from her with each slight movement.
When her limbs finally grew too heavy to drag her dying body over the cobblestones, Emma was free to lie on her back and wait. Her body gave her one last gift, and allowed a few soft sobs to escape. Her sensations slowly melted away, and a dark fog began to creep into the corners of her vision. Emma looked up at the moon as it watched her die, and for the first time in over 10 minutes, a calm smile rested on her still face