Page 24 of Hellebore

“It’s okay, Heather. It’s time to grow up, now,” she said, patting my back as I sobbed into her shirt. My body still ached; a splinter of memory having burrowed into my thoughts making it hard to focus on anything other than that feeling of Cole’s fingers pressed between my legs. There was shame that shadowed that feeling, but mostly, I wanted it again. Mostly, I wanted to offer that feeling to the person who meant more to me than any other.

Francesca pushed me back, the absence of her scent leaving me hollow as I wiped my tears.

“It’s almost time to leave, and you need to be ready,” she said firmly. “No more thoughts of Cole or Rabbit – our new life begins the night of the feast. You must prepare yourself.”

Her eyes darkened, teeth pressing to her lip as she regarded me. As though she saw through me, saw the ache in my stomach, saw the unrelenting swarm of fireflies in my chest as I regarded her back.

The winter feast was still weeks away, but the importance of it was all Francesca would talk about. How the high winter moon is a good omen for success.

“Go now, Heather. I will see you tomorrow,” She insisted, pressing a kiss to my forehead before she slipped behind her door leaving my skin tingling with wanting.

I returned through the forest, tears still slipping from my lashes as I considered life without Rabbit. It was who I was, for as long as I could recall. And the loss of it felt suffocating.

I dragged my feet through the mud, eyes glancing all directions in hopes that Cole might find me once more. The ache grew through me as I recalled the press of his hand beneath my shirt.

Rabbit or not, that night I was reborn. A woman, a sinner.

Yet the sadness clung to me with each step, Rabbit still woven through my thoughts.

And so, as I picked up my pace, rushing home, a decision was made. Rabbit was who I was, without it I felt scraped out, and I wasn’t ready to let her go.

Another,

a replacement, was what I needed.

On a Sunday morning, weeks after we had played at weaponry in the woods, Isabel’s sharp cry pierced the homestead, urgency making my heels skid through the dry dirt. I ran to her, fear pulsing behind my breast, to where she stood with glistening eyes cast to the weedy ground.

“What’s wrong?” I asked breathlessly, my heart still racing.

“It’s- it’s…”

“Oh,” I breathed as I narrowed my eyes to the ground.

Hidden amongst the dandelions and crab grass rested a small brown rabbit, her body lifeless as the earth sucked blood from her wounds.

“Is it…” Isabel asked, her voice hitching.

“It’s dead, Isa,” I confirmed solemnly, crouching to inspect the silent creature.

“Another rabbit? Why, what is it doing here?”

She was panicking – her words rushed and staggered, her fingers twisting in her skirts as her lashes blinked rapidly. Tears had already begun to well across her waterline as she choked back quiet sobs. You could see the fraying of her psyche as colour drained from her face. She was scared – terrified.

“I don’t know, maybe a fox dragged it into the yard,” I suggested, equally as confused as she seemed.

“They’re following me, Heather. They’re mad at me.”

Panic consumed her as she began to pace across the dirt, stones kicking behind her every time she turned on her heel. The forest stilled around us as I brushed a finger against the small rabbit’s ear, offering a moment of acknowledgment.

“Isa, I really don’t think a rabbit came and committed suicide in our yard to taunt you.”

I gripped her shoulders, holding her still. But her eyes still moved, darting back and forth between the rabbit and me as she swallowed with difficulty.

“I’m serious. I dream of that rabbit constantly,” she sobbed, breathing grief and innocence. “That poor little rabbit.”

“Isabel,” I said firmly, still gripping her, holding her in place to regulate her nervous energy. “Calm down. It’s going to be okay. Go and check the chickens. Make sure the fox didn’t get into the coop.”

When she returned, she held a muslin cloth in her wavering hands, an unlit candle tucked into the folds. We wrapped the blood wicked rabbit in the cloth, carefully placing her into a hole we had dug in the earth. The flame wavered atop the candle as we each said a silent prayer, tears skimming our lips as we swallowed our sorrow and said goodbye.