Author:Le Jaseroque
Title:
The Light Pours Out Of Me
Description: A short narrative of Katrina
Van Tassel, before the murders.
Violence:
None
Sex: None
Language: Mild.
Purple flowers twirling between her fingers, and the flutter-close-flutter-open of her eyes�eyes that drank in everything without motive or question fell upon the birds as they chirruped and chirped to each other�tittering. Fluttering.
�
Springtime had come late this year�at least the semblance of it�and having come late was loathe to withdraw.
�
A trail of bruised violet petals lay behind her, and the last flower slipped from her fingers as she spun round in the tall grasses�sunlight illuminating her hair like a pale, floating halo.
�
Katrina Van Tassel paused in her movements�the sun of her cheek�warm and dappling and spraying her with the patterns of leaves.
�
�Who is it?� she called, half turning, recognising the footfall as Brom�s. But she did not turn completely�and pretended she did not know who had come upon her in her ruminations. �Is if you, Theodore?�� She stifled a small laugh.
�
There was a silence and a frowning intonation bordering on offense, �Theodore?�
�
She turned now, smiling�her smile gently chiding and welcoming all at once,� and Brom made his steps toward her, realizing in these few moments that she had only been teasing him.
�
He was not sure if he liked it.
�
�Was it wicked of me to pretend I did not know who you were? To call you �Theodore� when I knew you by your steps?�
�
He seemed to pause and think at her question, instead of answering it straightaways�and this�to her�was enough.
�
She laughed again, tossing her pale head. �Well, if it�s wicked of me then I� recant�but you�ll have to catch me if you want the rest of my answer---�
�
She was off and running like a blur of gilt-winged mischief�and she turned back over her shoulder, calling out �Hurry up---� another peal of laughter, �---Theodore.�
�
������������������������������������������ *********************************
�
He had not been able to find her---let alone catch her, and after listening to him crash about in the leaves impatiently, she had emerged�and they both had laughed at her ingenuity.
�
They had sat together that day---under the shade of leafy spring, and for the second time that year�the first being quite clumsily�and ill-timed, just after the death of her mother�
�
--for the second time Brom had asked her hand in marriage.
�
And, for the second time that year, Katrina had refused.
�
He had retreated into sullen silence, and left her soon after, though he had masked his disappointment thinly with a jest and a smile.
�
She sat alone for a few moments more before drifting off into a sea of memories, and the gentle strains of her mother�s clear voice.
�
She slowly unwrapped the book from the shroud of a cloak she had disguised it in, and opened it�s leatherbound cover almost reverently, her fingers tracing the engraved embossed lettering, and her eyes closing a moment.
�