Ready or Not

The man’s quill scratched against the paper, in the still candlelight, drawing long curved letters that smudged at the edges as he hastened to the next line.

“Daddy.” His daughter said, her arms full of porcelain dolls as she stood in the doorway expectantly. “Daddy?”

“Yes?” He said, absently, hunched over his desk that took up most of the small monochrome room.

“Daddy, can I come in and play?”

He stared at the letter, her words unable to reach him.

“Daddy.” She said again, her voice smaller. “I miss you. Can I come in and play, please?”

She stepped over the threshold, the floor creaking below her tiny feet. He finally looked up, surprised to see her.

“Please?” She repeated, struggling to hold onto all of her dolls.

His surprise melted into a sorrowful smile.

“I’ll be so quiet.” She insisted.

He nodded, sighing, and she ran into the room, throwing the door shut with a harsh thud. She set up her dolls on the windowsill, climbing onto the Meridienne where she lay on her stomach by the tall window. The porcelain heads of her dolls reflected the pale moonlight as she had then sip tea and have whispered conversations.

Her father had been a handsome man not so long ago, with kind emerald eyes and a generous smile. But over the last year, his eyes had sunken in, the lines of his face had deepened, making him look a decade older, and the creases at the edges of his lips turned down much more often than up. His hair was peppered grey, and his skin had a faint yellow tinge that accentuated the red lines in his eyes.

The frozen candlelight flickered across his paper, pulling him from his thoughts as a subtle gust of wind flowed through the room. He turned to see the door to the study slowly falling open. His quill floated onto the desk as he stared into the dark hallway accusingly, but nothing revealed itself.

“Soon.” He whispered into the chilled air. “Soon.”

He turned back to the letter, his hand shaking as he picked up the quill. As he lifted the paper to the candlelight, his gaze fell past it and onto his daughter. She was her mother in miniature, with golden ringlets that fell down her back and curious brown eyes. He could only hope she would become all her mother was. A sad smile played at the edge of his lips as he lifted the quill to the paper.

My dearest Elenor,

I hope this past year has not eclipsed the life you’ve had thus far. I wish that the trip we took to the coast overshadows the day your mother’s grave was covered. That daily tea in the parlor with her dances in your mind far more than when the doctor arrived. And more than anything, remember the moments you played in my study rather than the day I die.

I cannot justify my actions to your little mind. I wish you never have the clarity to understand why I chose this, but at the very least, perhaps you can solace in the truth that I am with your mother. Maybe my choice is sinful, but love transcended desperate decisions. I see her every time I close my eyes, in every gust of wind, and in the setting sun. Maybe you can soon see us both in those moments.

My finances have all but run their course, but in this final act, I can give you enough to have a good life. My solicitor has the document to prove your claim and has been instructed to take you back to Auntie Mirials on the coast.

All my love,

Daddy

The stem of the quill was damp from his sweaty palm as it fell against the paper. He took a deep, ragged breath, whipping his hands on his pant legs. A line of tears ran down his cheek as he smiled into another faint gust of wind.

“You’re early.” He said to the wind, turning towards the door.

The door clicked shut as porcelain shattered against the wooden floor and his stomach ached. But as the wind trailed past, nothing stood in front of him, and the room had gone too quiet.

Her eyes widened, blurred by tears as she looked to her father for any sign that she had disturbed him. He didn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on the study door. A woman stood in front of the closed door; her skin was pale like milk and glowed like the moon. She smiled at the girl, who clamored from the meridienne to where her favorite porcelain doll lay on the floor. Its head was half caved in, a trail of porcelain chunks littering the floor.

She tried to clean the mess, not wanting the strange guest to see what she had done. The figure crossed the room; thickly layered cloaks fell around her as she glided closer. Her white hair swayed in the seemingly permanent gust of wind that enveloped her, as though she stood on a beach. She held a long, curved white staff of entwined wood in her right hand. Her free hand extended as she stared into the child's eyes.

Her hand froze in the air, an expectant smile across her face. The girl looked at her curiously, feeling her empty pockets; a faint panic, too far gone to fully feel, caressed her heart. The woman looked down at the porcelain that shimmered within her glow. Realizing, the girl pulled the largest shard from the pile, setting it in the woman’s palm. It melted instantly into her skin, brightening her smile.

The girl got to her feet, dusting her hands off; she took the ethereal woman’s hand. As she looked up at her, every feeling ever felt, and every pain ever endured seemed to slip away, and the sound of small, choppy waves invaded the room. Some far-off yelling struggled against the overwhelming waves, but it faded into oblivion as the door to the study opened and shut behind them.