The joy of our heart has ceased; our dance was turned to mourning" EZEQUIEL, 7:18

Cleaners From Venus - Mariette

Past Tense

May 1773

...

When I knew Lenneth, she was still in shape.

I was in shape too. Wearing a Knight's coat meant something. Without it, we were almost nothing. I was nothing, a nobody. Near that woman, I felt complete. Something in me was empty, very unquiet. I stood quiet all time, didn't knew what to say. How's the weather? Well, it's raining, so Lenneth would reply. I felt something in my chest, despite a childish fear. A Dragoon doesn't feel fear, but sometimes we forget that there is someone inside, other than a shell left behind. I felt like inside of a shell, hearing my own echoes, before I came to be and after I became a Knight of respect, or have some respect in hands. I wore a skin other than the one I had been born with, and yet I still relied on my fists. On training, I talked with same. I never could hold that hand without feeling a need to puke. It was too much.

Too much that someone took my place. A man by the name of Bartholomew, of the Brandford family. He worked with everything, since artist to potato carrier to blacksmith, the last which he used to make a spear for Lenneth. A light weighted one, made to be used by left-handed, given that all stabbing weapons are meant to be holded mainly by the right one. For some reason, Lenneth heard it all, accepted the gift, and each day they met each other. That was Bart's first lie, and I never lied to her. Only to myself. I never saw that lady improve, but it wasn't alike the first days where she almost lost her toes. And I, well, tried my best so she used her right arm away. Lenneth refused, said that she just got used of it. I understood. I was there to give advices, solve problems, hear her voice... ignore the sweet of her voice and hear the pleas instead.

Not that she could solve them on her own. How she could... Formidable, agile, a bit spiteful yet kind at the end, didn't smiled very much unless you made it to, but I wasn't there for it. I didn't became a Dragoon so I could receive some cheers and feel amused for that. Well, a side of me wanted. I wanted someone, other than being something. If the sun let a sparkle fell out of the clouds, it would shine alike this hair; it could had been me who said that. It would be against the rules, the moral and my sanity. Though, I saw many couples around the Jugend, Dragoons new and old building nests to this day. I had nobody, not even a family member. They usually do not help either, only put the blame at your shouders. Guess I was doing the same to Lenneth, for doing what she done to me, but it was only me. Only me.

Lenneth... We would never do right to each other.

...

August 1778

...

A new King was crowned.

I don't see any change, besides appearance. And a plenty of stories to be told later on, around the table. A place reserved for Kings, Sirs, Counts, or someone very important, worthy a title. Our majesty lost its tail in war, and got a new one made of steel. I saw many boys without a home, or a tail to take care, and none of them could afford such privilege. What makes Gabriel related to them is that he lost its father, and the way he died always sounds a bit heroic. Well, not for me. The dinner was great, althought something in my mouth tasted bad. No wonder they call me by brown nose at my back. Also, Lenneth wasn't there. Well, a few other Knights weren't, but Lenneth... not that I cared for others, but mainly her. Well, why she would be there, wearing such heavy armory with that unconfortable bump?

A Knight would dare to cut its own hand to prove its loyalty, but these are other times, older than I. I heard that Lenneth stood at home, still fulfilling her duty of bringing life instead of death. She brought it for herself, and a new member for the family. I came to pay a visit, and I was grated by Bart, now her husband, cooking meal at the kitchen. I talked to him briefly at the table, we discussed about the new King, we laughed at some jokes so we felt better to ourselves. I also asked what did he prepared for Lenneth, it was a nice meal, this before I knew it was Lenneth's own. To think I ate her own placenta... no, the placenta belongs to the baby, is shared to its mother. Yuck. Oh, and the newborn's name is Freya, so I heard, and saw too. A pinky, almost jelly being, bitting its mother while asking for milk, instead of blood.

To think I was like that. Lenneth too, before she came to have a name, or to bring names. While she took care of dolls, I took care of her, but she already have a name. As for me, I was knew and called by dormouse, as if I was a kind. Now they know me as a Dragoon Knight, a Sir, and someone you can't talk whatever you want on its face. I said nothing, feeling discomfort with a mother feeding its son. Guess Lenna was the one who felt less comfort, exposed like a chewed plum, unable to move her legs, but I know she would get out. It happened once, and I saw Jack out the window, playing with its friends. Well, he hanged on a dead salamander, which wasn't dead at all, crawled on someone's leg... kid's stuff. I never found myself feeling like them, or even sharing of my feelings or a bit of gratitude for Lenna.

Without her, I wouldn't be what I am. With her, I feel weird, a reminiscensce of when she took a bath on her own, and I stood on the other side of the door, with my thoughts alone. I was sort of a imaginary friend, whom only that girl could hear, but most the time, I was only a creature raised from mud, while she was shaped in clay. Each time I think about it, I might feel sick, and relieved as well. I once fought in the garden in front of her house, before I knew it was her house. A boy hurted me so bad, but I was happy because someone cried for me. I stood below the cold rain, while a warm tear went on my face, belonging to another face. I saw myself on that face. You in me, and me in you. We were children, seeds awaiting to grow into same trees. At the exit, I said goodbye to Bart, when I could have said 'take care of her'.

Freya Crescent... shouldn't had been Brandford instead? Well, I always knew that Lenneth had dominance over other's lifes. A month later, and I see her around the market, carrying the little one in an arm and a basket on another. I took the basket full of bread in hands, but still I couldn't take away the pain in the middle of legs. Surprising how Lenneth could walk, despite feeling such pain and the amount of blood lost. Her skin was pale as that hair, and the milk that came out to feed her daughter. I couldn't even look to her face, but when I did, it looked like she sucked a lemon in disgust. Her eyes were still purple, and I never said anything about them, how they looked like gems, nothing. I wondered which color the little one's eyes would become, when I only knew that her skin would be gray, and that the ribbon at her tail is orange, alike the ones wrapping her mother's hair.

I once wrapped them when she was a little girl. Was too close of ears to whisper, but I didn't wanted to say what I felt when touching her hair, comb with my claws. Lenneth said what she wanted to with a kiss, the only one she ever gave to me. It's because I didn't asked afterwards. Didn't insisted to take her out to a dinner, but I already knew her, so much that I didn't wanted to stay forever. But fate makes us cross paths, like when I got my arm and nose broken, near that house, where this same woman used to live. Now that place is in ruins, a former shell of its glory. Accidents happen, but sometimes, when you want something to happen, you have to make it happen. At the way home, I was still carrying that basket while Lenneth carried her daughter, who only felt its mother's heat instead of her pain. And when I was about to feel my own, Lenneth said:

— I still feel pain. But this also means that I'm still alive, right?

I'm glad that you are.

...

December 1780

...

Fog.

Hot air coming out of the south collides against the cold walls of Burmecia, resulting in the worst of the fogs to cover my sight, and everyone's. Children are nowhere to be seem, and heat comes out of candles and lamp oils burning in yellow. Lenneth is with her children, and Freya grew enough to see, but with this fog in the way, she sees everything as it began. Her life is already a gift brought outside yuletide, which this fog makes me forget about. I shouldn't worry for them, but myself. I hear doors being open at my back, and no lights at all. Must be burglars, who only appear at night, or when unseen. I hear a couple discuss, and no fear or bluff on the voice of the man who threatened to not allow her to leave the door. Should I interfere? Then a window cracks and some shards fall on me. I step over, seeing the water turn red beneath my feet. Beneath that body, fallen and broken alike brick.

It's yuletide, and I broke the jaw of a man. Before, he came out the front door, as if nothing happened. Well, with me on the way, something did. I also felt my arm disjoint when it collided against the ground meat face. Just a feeling, whom I can't blame the fog for. I walk unafraid, in the middle of thick curtains of cold air, to a specific place. Yes, the corner where I was born and the borders outside, where I was raised. Before I came to knew Lenneth, and when I did, I never told to her or anyone that I was a thief. Imagine the turmoir of someone like me, a Dragoon Knight, once a thief in a past life? As if being a being of another color was not already a target of calumny and difamation, both I can sue someone against. But I didn't came here to punish anyone, or myself. Or even say that I miss this place, that I was lucky to get out.

Then I hear a cry, not mine. I didn't came here for it too. I don't even know why, but that cry gave me a reason why. It has been two years since Lenneth gave birth, and half an hour since someone abandoned this baby. In flesh ahd dirt, it screamed as if its skin was set on fire. Only the skin, pinkish and irritated. At old times, before Burmecia came to exist, a tribe of warriors that came to be part of our heritage only raised warriors in the family. When the newborn seemed weak for their sight, what they did was to abandon them at the pit of a mountain, so it was devoured or died of hunger; anyway, that thing shouldn't exist. But nowadays, everyone has a second chance. A Dragoon lives to make others live, yet what I felt on that moment wasn't what a Dragoon feels. I took my escutcheon out, so I could open my coat, and place that thing near my chest.

That thing still screamed, but I felt better with myself. What I was doing was the right thing to do, out of the many wrong paths I took. For a moment, I didn't knew where to go. It was a girl, with no name, or a mother, or a father to take care of. Just the streets to teach, and to learn with. She's still young to learn something, but she knows that something was wrong. That's why she cried, and that's why I began to call her by 'she' instead of 'creature'. I didn't had a name in mind yet, but following the way outside the alley, I came in to Lenneth's house. Jack was playing marbles with Dan, while Freya was on sleep within the crib, and Bart was somewhere, guiding people throught the fog like a ferryman in change of a few bucks. That should had been my work, so said Lenneth. I said that she was already following her duty by maintaning these kids inside.

What happens in the fog doesn't stay only at the fog. But that girl didn't only stood at my mind, but my arms. It was her, or the coat of arms. I can only borrow one. Besides asking for a ribbon, I also wanted to know which name would I choose to her. She is pretty strong to have survived this enough, like a warrior. So, I already had a name in mind, a gift for someone I cared about... a warrior by the name of Hrist.