No rites for the spawn of whores (open)
Feb 28, 2014 22:19:18 GMT -6
Post by Rosa Giovanno on Feb 28, 2014 22:19:18 GMT -6
It was a several day ride to Firenze from Roma, but Rosa didn't mind. In fact, she enjoyed it. She always enjoyed being on the back of a horse who also wanted to leave the cold stone buildings behind for the green fields and vineyards that stretched between the two cities. And plus, she charged extra for the journey, in addition to the days it took to get there. She had been hired on by a lonely traveler, who was not content to spend the nights by himself around his pitiful campfire. And of course Rosa, for a fee, was content to solve his problem.
Once they reached the city gates, though, she was quickly paid and acquitted of her services. Even meager travelers did not want to be seen lingering in the daylight with someone of her position. Indifferent, she entered the city separately and bought herself a room at a local tavern, bathed, and slept, waiting for the evening hours when her work would begin again.
When the purple and amber hues finally stretched across the sky, and long after the stars had come up to bear their twinkling faces, Rosa had only attracted a few clients, none of which wanted to stay the night with her. Each of them only stayed a little while, and then went home or back to wherever else they came from. So when Rosa finally did turn in for the night, it was alone. Not that she minded, of course. She was still tired even after her nap, exhausted from the travel in the days before. And yet, for hours after she went to bed, still she could not sleep. She never did sleep well when she was alone, and she missed her dog, Salvi. Without him to lay across her feet at the bottom of the bed, the room felt too empty to sleep in. But soon she was struck by bizarre and unexplainable pains, and was assured it was not her loneliness that kept her from peace.
The early morning hours found the temptress weeping, her eyes dark with a sorrow she couldn't understand. In her arms she cradled a small and unfamiliar object, one she never could have anticipated: a runtish corpse of a baby - her baby - hardly bigger than the palm of her hand. Why was it affecting her so much, as if she had ever bore it any love? The thing had hardly lived. She hadn't even known she was pregnant! And yet there it was, wrapped in cloth and curled like a dead puppy in her hands. She sobbed and rocked back and forth, mumbling out apologies. To whom, she didn't know. What miserable being was this, to be so cursed as to have her for a mother? A mother - the word stung her mind. She wouldn't have been ready for it if it had lived. She knew she would have had to have given it up. But even that, even that would have been better than this.
Her eyes were red and bloodshot by the time she finally stopped crying, and it was the middle of the afternoon before she gathered up enough courage to leave her room. She didn't have enough money to buy a casket, nor did she have the time to wait for it to be constructed. So she went to the market and purchased a small, ordinary jewelry box. Yellow flowers were painted on the top, blooming from green vines that grew down around the sides. She brought it back to the tavern and delicately placed the little bundle inside, before setting out to find a priest.
Those that she found all shunned her away. One of them yelled at her for bringing "that devil spawn" anywhere near him, and rebuked her for ever thinking "that creature" would be able to receive any kind of rite. Fresh and bitter tears stained her cheeks as she walked away, and a foreign lump of grief gripped at her throat.
She found a barn and hid the day away there, finding solace in what animals would allow her to pet them. But no matter what she did, one arm always clung to the little box, hugging it to her chest as she wept. When the day was over and promised only a few more hours of light, and most of the people on the streets had retreated into their homes for supper, Rosa stole a shovel from the barn and made for the cemetery.
Denied life, denied rites, there was still some hope, some proper respect that she held for her child, and the belief that it deserved as proper of a burial as she could give. Even if that meant illegally digging a grave so that it could be laid to rest in a proper cemetery. She found a spot near the edge of the grounds, beside a small sapling tree and gently laid her precious box on the grass. Why was it so precious to her? She stroked her fingertips over the cover tenderly before standing up and setting to work. Her heart fell with every dip of the shovel, and in moments she simply dropped it, sat on the ground and cried, holding her miscarried treasure to her chest.
Once they reached the city gates, though, she was quickly paid and acquitted of her services. Even meager travelers did not want to be seen lingering in the daylight with someone of her position. Indifferent, she entered the city separately and bought herself a room at a local tavern, bathed, and slept, waiting for the evening hours when her work would begin again.
When the purple and amber hues finally stretched across the sky, and long after the stars had come up to bear their twinkling faces, Rosa had only attracted a few clients, none of which wanted to stay the night with her. Each of them only stayed a little while, and then went home or back to wherever else they came from. So when Rosa finally did turn in for the night, it was alone. Not that she minded, of course. She was still tired even after her nap, exhausted from the travel in the days before. And yet, for hours after she went to bed, still she could not sleep. She never did sleep well when she was alone, and she missed her dog, Salvi. Without him to lay across her feet at the bottom of the bed, the room felt too empty to sleep in. But soon she was struck by bizarre and unexplainable pains, and was assured it was not her loneliness that kept her from peace.
The early morning hours found the temptress weeping, her eyes dark with a sorrow she couldn't understand. In her arms she cradled a small and unfamiliar object, one she never could have anticipated: a runtish corpse of a baby - her baby - hardly bigger than the palm of her hand. Why was it affecting her so much, as if she had ever bore it any love? The thing had hardly lived. She hadn't even known she was pregnant! And yet there it was, wrapped in cloth and curled like a dead puppy in her hands. She sobbed and rocked back and forth, mumbling out apologies. To whom, she didn't know. What miserable being was this, to be so cursed as to have her for a mother? A mother - the word stung her mind. She wouldn't have been ready for it if it had lived. She knew she would have had to have given it up. But even that, even that would have been better than this.
Her eyes were red and bloodshot by the time she finally stopped crying, and it was the middle of the afternoon before she gathered up enough courage to leave her room. She didn't have enough money to buy a casket, nor did she have the time to wait for it to be constructed. So she went to the market and purchased a small, ordinary jewelry box. Yellow flowers were painted on the top, blooming from green vines that grew down around the sides. She brought it back to the tavern and delicately placed the little bundle inside, before setting out to find a priest.
Those that she found all shunned her away. One of them yelled at her for bringing "that devil spawn" anywhere near him, and rebuked her for ever thinking "that creature" would be able to receive any kind of rite. Fresh and bitter tears stained her cheeks as she walked away, and a foreign lump of grief gripped at her throat.
She found a barn and hid the day away there, finding solace in what animals would allow her to pet them. But no matter what she did, one arm always clung to the little box, hugging it to her chest as she wept. When the day was over and promised only a few more hours of light, and most of the people on the streets had retreated into their homes for supper, Rosa stole a shovel from the barn and made for the cemetery.
Denied life, denied rites, there was still some hope, some proper respect that she held for her child, and the belief that it deserved as proper of a burial as she could give. Even if that meant illegally digging a grave so that it could be laid to rest in a proper cemetery. She found a spot near the edge of the grounds, beside a small sapling tree and gently laid her precious box on the grass. Why was it so precious to her? She stroked her fingertips over the cover tenderly before standing up and setting to work. Her heart fell with every dip of the shovel, and in moments she simply dropped it, sat on the ground and cried, holding her miscarried treasure to her chest.
