I cannot bear to think of you so unhappy. How is your sister doing now? She is strong and brave, just as you are. I know it.
I saw you in town today. I wished I had the courage to tell you just how beautiful you looked. The sunlight was touching your cheeks in a manner that made me most envious, andleaves were blowing in the breeze around your head, making a golden crown just for you.
You looked fit to be worshipped.
Your reverent friend
Bisma’s cheeks heated up, reading that last bit. She touched her face and the skin was, in fact, warm; she pressed her cold fingers against her cheeks, hoping she wasn’t red.
Not for the first time, she wondered exactly who the writer was. She did not usually like being seen by the residents of Old Town; she kept their glances at bay with her dark clothes and permanent scowls.
But something about the way this stranger saw her, really saw her, made goosebumps rise on her arms as potent desire simmered deep within her.
She thought this feeling was a disease she was cured of, but now she realized the craving to be loved and wanted was something that had not left her.
It had gotten her into trouble before, and she was afraid it would get her into trouble again.
The last time she had yearned for a connection this deeply, she had been sixteen. Though Bisma did her best to keep the memories of that time locked away, today the box slipped open and the memories unfurled.
She thought of another boy. He was a year older than her and had been in Old Town for the summer, accompanying his father, who had come to sell his landscape paintings.
Bisma saw him in town one day as she was running errands; the sight of him immediately made her stop in her tracks. He was beautiful, with curling brown hair the color of bark and deep blue eyes a gorgeous shade of twilight.
And it wasn’t just her who saw him; he saw her. When she left the fabric store, a gust of wind loosened the ribbon from her hair and it flew off. As she turned to catch it, he already had.
‘I’m Gregory,’ he said, stepping close to hand the ribbon back to her. He smelled like parchment and paint.
‘Bisma.’
She found excuses to go to town nearly every day, and the next time Gregory saw her, he asked her to go on a walk together. They meandered through the woods, then sat and ate the picnic he had packed for her, and talked and talked.
She loved listening to him speak of Springfield, the village in Huntington where he was from, and all the other towns he’d visited with his father, who sold paintings.
She fell in love. She did well to make sure he never found out she was an Unwanted Girl, nor about her reputation as a garden-witch, and with him, she felt like a different person. Like she could be normal, just another girl. She was so careful.
Or so she thought.
One evening, after their walk, he brushed the hair from her face and pressed his lips to hers. It was her first kiss, and it awakened something in her, a deep hunger. She snuck away daily to see him, and they would explore each other’s bodies.
Then, a few weeks later, on a blanket in a hidden corner of the woods, they went all the way. It was painful, but she had never been so connected to someone, and finally she felt that there was someone all for herself, someone who could be hers and she could be his.
She had never felt happier.
Until the next day, when he didn’t meet her at their spot.
A day passed, then two, then three.
Finally, she paid another visit to Old Town, hoping to spot him, worried that something terrible had happened to him or his father. It was then that she found him, surrounded by othervillage boys, laughing. He looked fine. But then why hadn’t he come to see her?
She snuck closer, hoping to catch his eye and that was when she overheard the others congratulating him for bedding the most unwanted of the Unwanted Girls. At first, she was confused; she didn’t understand who they were talking about, until, with dread, she realized they were talking about her.
Her older sisters had been right. Gregory did not love her; he had used her.
She was just a plaything to him, and now that he’d had his fun, he saw no need to entertain her anymore.
Tears burning her eyes, Bisma stepped back, but as she did, a branch broke. The boys heard; they all turned to look at her. The moment they recognized their eavesdropper, they began to laugh, clutching at each other with glee. Gregory turned to her tear-stained face and for a second she thought he might show some remorse, and if he did, she would forgive him, of course she would.
But there was not an ounce of guilt on his beautiful face; he only laughed.
