Rose stood by the door, listening. A puff of steam burst through the gap, signaling the presence of something alive, something that breathed.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. In my lap a black rabbit sat, its ears held high, watching the entrance to the small cottage. Rose held a finger to her lips, glaring. I had broken the silence that we had been keeping since midmorning.
"Rose." It was a statement. There was a man at the door, asking after Rose. "I know you're here. We haven't spoken in nineteen years. At least you could open the door."
"Go away," she growled, grabbing the door handle and twisting it to make sure it was locked.
"Rose, it's taken me years to find you. I hear you have a daughter."
"She's not yours," she hissed, and I was a little shocked by her ferocity. "She's not even mine." I had a sinking feeling. Rose had never pretended to be my mother, but she had never denied me altogether.
"Open this door or I'll break it down," the man insisted, and there was a terrible cracking sound. Rose looked at me, angrier than I'd ever seen her.
"Rabbit, get yourself up to the loft, and make sure that you're not seen." Even as old as I was, at seventeen, I knew that to disobey her would have disastrous results. I did as she said and watched from behind a barrel.
Rose unlocked the door slowly, backing away from it when it was finally open. The man walked in, a stranger that looked like a prince. He was a fair individual, and dressed in furs and what I assumed to be silk.
"Rumors led me to this spot," he said quietly, looking around the room. "I'd have thought you'd be somewhere more populated."
"I know. That's why I'm here." Rose glared at him. He sighed.
"Why do you hate me, Rose?" he asked beseechingly. "I never did anything to you. You decided I'd changed to0 much for you after you undid the enchantment. I could've sat in one spot without moving or talking and the story would stay the same."
"I like the way things are," she mumbled. "I like what I have here. It would be just wonderful if you'd kindly pick up your broken heart and take it out with you the way you came." He frowned.
"Rose, you can't expect me to just stand by while you raise a child in poverty," he insisted, looking around again, searching for me.
"That's a shame, because it's what you did. I raised a child, on my own, in 'poverty'. Oh, and let me remind you again that said former child was placed in my care by others. You have no claim to her, and neither do I. She's of marrying age and is old enough to make her own decisions. In fact, I was thinking she should learn a trade and make her own way. So. You can just go now, if that's your reason for coming." As Rose stood facing him with her arms crossed, I crept down the ladder and stood behind her.
"Who is he?" I asked her, as the man stared at me in shock.
"He's an acquaintance of mine, and I told you to stay in the loft." she growled.
"I can make my own decisions, remember? And I have a trade," I grumbled, hurt by what she'd said earlier.
"You can't be the village whore forever," she snarled, "and I'm fairly sure you're not intelligent enough to know which decisions are yours to make." Pushing past her, I curtseyed in front of the stranger.
"I'm Helynna," I said politely. "My apologies," I mumbled, motioning towards Rose. "Who are you?"
"My name is Alan," the man replied. "I'm Rose's husband."
"Not anymore you're not," Rose muttered, sitting on the steps to the loft and glaring.
"Walking away doesn't make you the Pope, dear Rose, and so you cannot simply decide we're divorced."
"Don't engage," I advised, glancing at Rose. "If you can just tell me your purpose in coming here, I'm sure there would be far less hostility."
"I came here," he said helplessly, "because of you, of course."
…
