writing_shadows

“Now come here and lay still, take only shallow breaths, there’s a good girl,” the instructions beckoned her away from the open window with the chill draft where she had been standing, the light shift offering no real protection against the cold night air that blew in. The young man sat on the bed watching her approach, his face flushed with passion or nerves, it was difficult to tell which. He had a regal bearing even now, his features were striking and perhaps even handsome, regardless; none could mistake what lineage he claimed and that was what mattered.

The marriage had been swiftly arranged. The young man had visited her family’s estate with his parents and after some time in which the patriarch’s spoke about dowries and availability the man had looked over Gianna and her sisters. He did so with a look of bored disinterest until spying a simple piece of needlepoint lying on a table.

“Whose work is this?” he asked in the tone of one very used to swift and direct answers.

Gianna bobbed her head bashfully as she answered quietly that it was hers, she felt his eyes on her and blood rushed to her face.

“It reminds me of Annalisa’s work,” he turned away from her and picked up the needlepoint, “father? Don’t you think this looks like dearest sister’s?”

Raffaello looked over at his son and nodded, turning to regard Gianna slightly, “mm, yes, it does. And she has her eyes.”

And before much longer they were back to discussions, Gianna’s father trying to subtly move the conversation away from the dour matter of the deceased sister while the young man, Alberto, watched her with an almost hungry gaze. It was to be a marriage of alliance and political advantage, both families stood to profit from this mingling of blood and while Alberto was allowed to choose his bride from among the sisters, instead of being forced to take the eldest as many such marriages relied on, that was as far as choice went in the matter.

His family was a strange one, they obviously cared greatly for him to allow him this freedom of choice and their standing was without question. But something about them set Gianna on edge; the familiarity they showed each other, the lingering glances and touches between members or perhaps the fearless way they approached the topic of passed members. Her own family had lost several siblings and they remained politely forgotten in conversation, the only remembrance shown through dark clothing and a mourning broach, seemingly forgotten in hopes of warding off death itself from further attention.

The two did not spend time together before the ceremony, as of course private meetings would have been scandalous and Alberto seemed uninterested in the more proper courtship formalities done in the public eye. Gianna in turn awaited the wedding with both eagerness and terror, unsure which to give into as she listened to tales of the Sangiovanni; her sisters happy to fill her head with stories of both how wonderful the marriage would be and of the more sordid rumours one could hear, swapping seamlessly between terrorising their sister and dropping tantalising and lurid anecdotes.

And so when the wedding had been completed, it had been quite a lavish affair and with hundreds in attendance, Gianna had no idea what to expect. Alberto had looked into her eyes with a loving gaze, a hand going to a mourning broach he wore at his lapel, before a wicked smile crossed his face. Now she lay on the bed, her skin icy to the touch, trying to stay as still as the grave.