My Beloved, Still

Akiya had always believed that love made a place holy. It was not the chapel bells that made the village sacred, nor the old stone well where women gathered each morning with their buckets, nor even the little graveyard beyond the hill, where the dead slept beneath crooked markers and wild grass.

No. It was love.

Love made the crooked cottage beautiful, made winter gentle. Love turned a bed of straw into a palace when the right person lay beside you.

And Akiya had Liah.

That was enough to make a kingdom of the world.

“You’re staring again,” Liah murmured.

Akiya smiled as they lay together beneath the heavy quilts, though morning had long since come and gone. Thin gray light slipped through the cracks in the shutters, touching Liah’s face in pale strips. Akiya thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.

Liah’s dark hair spilled across the pillow. Her skin was paler than usual, but Akiya found that beautiful too.

“I cannot help it,” she whispered.

Liah did not open her eyes. Akiya reached beneath the blankets and found her hand. It was cold, but that was nothing unusual, as the winter had been bitter that year with frost silvering the cottage windows every morning, and the villagers complaining that even the river seemed ready to freeze beneath its surface.

“You must stop worrying over me,” Akiya said, squeezing Liah’s fingers.

Liah’s hand remained still in hers. Outside, someone knocked at the cottage door, causing Akiya to frown. The sound came again with three hard knocks.

“Akiya!”

She knew the voice. Old Mara, the woman who lived two cottages away.

Akiya rolled her eyes. “She has no consideration for lovers.”

Liah said nothing, but Akiya laughed softly and pressed her cheek against Liah’s shoulder.

“Do you hear me?” The knocking continued. “Akiya, child! Open this door!”

“I will not!” Akiya called back. “Go home!”

There was silence. Then Mara’s voice came quieter. “Please.”

Akiya’s smile faded. For a moment, she almost rose from the bed, but Liah’s hand was in hers, and Akiya could not imagine leaving it.

“Ignore her,” she whispered.

The knocking eventually stopped, causing Akiya to relax. “See? She has gone.”

She turned toward Liah. Liah was still beautiful. That was the first thing Akiya thought each morning and the last thing she thought each night. Even as the days passed, even as the cottage grew colder, even as the flowers in the little clay vase beside the bed began to wilt.

They had met beneath the apple trees in spring. At least, that was how Akiya preferred to remember it. There had been sunlight then, warm, golden sunlight spilling over the hills and catching in Liah’s hair. The village had been alive with birdsong, and the trees heavy with blossoms.

Liah had been standing beneath one of them with her skirts gathered in her hands. “Are you lost?” Akiya had asked.

Liah had smiled. “I was waiting.”

“For whom?”

“You.”

Akiya had laughed at that.

Now, lying beside her beloved, she remembered every detail. The softness of Liah’s smile, the warmth of her voice, the way she had looked at Akiya as if the whole world had finally arrived. They had been inseparable after that.

The village knew them as two girls who walked everywhere hand in hand, the ones who sat beside the river, gathered herbs in the woods. They even whispered together during Sunday service until the priest gave them disapproving looks. And sometimes, when no one was watching, Liah would steal kisses beneath the trees.

“You are shameless,” Akiya would whisper.

“And you love me for it.”

“I do.”

Akiya smiled at the memory. “You remember that day, don’t you?”

Liah did not answer, causing Akiya’s smile to falter briefly before she shook her head.

“You are teasing me.”

She lifted Liah’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. Her fingers had become difficult to hold. Akiya told herself it was because of the cold. Winter did strange things to the body. Everyone knew that.

The village began to whisper. At first, they whispered only about Akiya. No one had seen her at the market; she had not attended church; she had not opened her door.

Mara claimed she heard Akiya speaking at all hours. Laughing. Crying. Singing old love songs.

The blacksmith said he had seen smoke rising from the cottage chimney one morning, but no smoke since.

The baker's wife said she had seen Akiya at the window. “She looked happy,” the woman insisted.

“Happy?” Mara asked.

“She was smiling.”

Mara had looked toward the hill where the cottage stood. “That’s what frightened me.”

Still, no one entered. Not at first. The villagers were simple people, and simple people often believed sorrow deserved privacy. They knew something terrible had happened to Liah. They knew the village healer had visited and the church bell had rung. But after that, Akiya had shut the door and days became weeks because no one wanted to be the one to force it open.

Akiya did not understand why everyone was behaving so strangely.

“Do you think they’re jealous?”

She brushed Liah’s hair away from her face.

“They see how much I love you.”

The room had grown dim once Akiya stopped bothering to light the candles. Day and night seemed nearly the same. It was easier that way. In the darkness, the cottage felt warm. The walls disappeared, and she could pretend they were lying beneath the stars.

Sometimes, she imagined Liah’s voice. Sometimes Liah told stories. Sometimes, they spoke for hours.

“You always did talk too much,” Liah said.

Akiya gasped dramatically. “I do not!”

“You do.”

“You’re dreadful.”

“And yet you adore me.”

Akiya smiled and moved closer. “I adore everything about you.” Her voice softened. “Every little thing.”

She kissed Liah’s knuckles. There was a faint, unpleasant smell in the room that had Akiya wrinkling her nose.

“Those flowers.” She glanced toward the clay vase. “They’ve spoiled the room.”

She did not throw them away. She was too tired to leave the bed. Besides, Liah was sleeping, and Akiya could not possibly disturb her.

One night, rain began to fall, rattling against the shutters and leaking through the old roof. Akiya held Lian closer.

“I hate storms.”

Liah had always known that. When thunder sounded, she would pull Akiya against her chest and tell her there was nothing in heaven or earth that could reach her.

Nothing could hurt you while I am here. Akiya remembered those words perfectly. She repeated them now. “Nothing can hurt me while you are here.”

Thunder rolled across the hills. Akiya squeezed Liah’s hand. Nothing could hurt her. Not death nor loneliness. Not the terrible silence that sometimes filled the room when she stopped talking. Liah was here. That was all that mattered.

“I will never leave you,” Akiya whispered.

For the first time, she began to cry quietly, burying her face against Liah’s shoulder.

“I promised.”

Somewhere in her mind, a memory stirred. A healer. Liah lying terribly still. Akiya shaking her. Someone trying to pull Akiya away. A white cloth that had been quickly discarded.

Akiya jerked upright. “No!”

The room was silent. She stared at Liah. “No.”

Her breathing became quick. It was a dream. Only a dream. She placed both hands around Liah’s face.

“You are here.”

The silence remained.

“You are here.” Her voice broke.

Liah’s head rested against the pillow. Akiya began to laugh. Of course she was here. There she was. Her Liah. Her beautiful Liah. Her only Liah. Akiya lay back down beside her and wrapped herself around her beloved’s still form.

“Do not frighten me like that,” she whispered. “I thought I had lost you.”

By morning, Mara had returned. This time, she brought the priest.

“Akiya,” Mara called.

Nothing. She tried again.

“Akiya, please.”

From inside came a soft voice. “She is sleeping.”

Mara began to weep as the priest stepped forward. “Move back.”

The door was old. It took little to open; as soon as it did, the smell made them stop. The priest covered his mouth while Mara whispered Akiya’s name. The cottage was dark. The bed stood against the far wall. For one terrible moment, no one moved. Then Mara stepped inside.

“Akiya?”

Akiya was lying on her side, arms wrapped around Liah, their hands joined. Akiya’s eyes were open, but she was staring somewhere far beyond the cottage walls, far beyond the village, perhaps beyond the world itself.

Mara approached slowly. “Akiya.”

Akiya smiled. “You must be quiet. Liah is sleeping.”

Mara trembled; the priest looked away. There had been no sleep. Not for Liah. Not for many days. But Akiya only tightened her grip around the hand she refused to release.

“She has been ill,” Akiya explained gently. “But she is better now.” Her eyes returned to Liah. “So much better.”

Mara fell to her knees beside the bed. “Oh, child.”

Akiya frowned at her. “Why are you crying?”

Mara could not answer. Akiya looked confused for only a moment until Liah’s laugh caught her attention. Akiya smiled brightly.

“Did you hear that?”

The others heard nothing.

“She is laughing at you.”

The priest quietly led Mara from the room. Akiya didn't notice them leave; she was somewhere else. Beneath apple trees in spring, the sunlight was warm against her face. Liah stood before her, alive and laughing, her hands reaching out.

“You took long enough,” Lia teased.

Akiya ran to her. “I’m here now.”

Liah took her hand. And Akiya held on.

Outside the cottage, the church bells began to ring. Inside, Akiya lay beside the woman she loved, whispering sweet nothing into the silence, smiling as though Liah whispered them back.

And in her mind, where spring had never ended, and death had never found them, the two lovers walked hand in hand beneath the blossoms.