Star People

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Clairice married him, hoping they could escape through it, but now she realizes how foolish she was. All she could do was gaze at this other world and long for the day when she could have her freedom. Meanwhile, Morgan had become accustomed to this world and his newfound status. In this world, no one saw the scars from his accident as a child. No one turned away. Being here allowed him to be free from those prying eyes. Here they didn’t see anything but a cosmos. A person’s ‘skin’ per se looked like a galaxy of stars had taken human form—a literal twinkle in someone’s eye. At first, coming here, his eyes were blue and his hair a muddy blonde. No longer did he have the soft shoulder-length muddy blonde hair she remembered. Now it was the darkest black with shimmering constellations. Oh, how she longed to see his ocean-blue eyes again, without the stars. Maybe this spot on her hand was hope that she would again return to the old world and again to the beauty of the quiet cottage that lay just beyond reach. She could see it through the window, a place unknown to her since she had been here so long.

Morgan turns to look at her.

“How do I look?”

“Stunning.” Her voice was flat.

“What’s wrong?” He sat across from her on the bed. “Did not the servants prepare the right dress for you?”

“Right dress? No, no. My dress is fine... Do you remember the old world where we lived before?”

“What of it? We are better off here. We have everything anyone could possibly want. We can celebrate every night if we wish…. Or we could stay here. What is the matter? Are you ill?”

“No, I am not ill…. just tired.”

She wanted to say was that she longed for bright blue skies, for the warmth of the sun again, but Morgan would say what he always said. “We have blue skies; the moon is just a reflection of the sun, so the skies are still bright, and you will always have my warmth even with the sun gone.” She was tired of hearing that.

“Would you like to stay and rest this evening? We do not have to go out?”

“No, I will go with you.”

She gets up from the chair, and he gets up from the bed. It is then that he sees her hand.

“What is that?”

“What?”

“On your hand.”

Three days ago, something strange started to happen. Clairice could see the color of her skin again. It was only a tiny spot on the inside of her hand, but there it was—a sandy-colored blotch. At first, she thought she had imagined it, but it did not go away. She showed him her palm. He touched it, and for a moment, she thought maybe he remembered their life before.

“Don’t show anyone else. Here take this and wrap it around your hand. Tell people you cut it picking roses or something, but no one can see.”

He handed her a handkerchief. He used to kiss a cut and wrap it himself, but now any tiny gesture of romance was gone. She couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment for this change, but slowly over time, she sensed the change in him and herself.

“Thank you”

“Wrap it tight. It can’t fall off…. Let’s be on our way.”

Every day there are events, always going somewhere. They are always moving. She stole one last glance out the window again, wished she could go, but she couldn’t leave without him. He was her best friend, or at least he had been. She held onto the hope that small flash had brought…maybe he would be again.

The prince has held a ball every night—thousands of them for any given reason. Everyone comes. When newcomers would arrive, he would paint their skin to match the constellations and cosmos that moved and danced around them. Over time their skin would just become like that. Within months they no longer required paints or paintbrushes. Anything natural about them before was gone, and only the ethereal beauty remained. It was mesmerizing, but as she stood here now, it made her dizzy and sick. She grabbed Morgan’s arm to hold her steady. He squeezed her elbow, escorting her to the front of the hall where the crown prince sat. Morgan bowed she curtsied. The prince reached for her hand and kissed it.

“I'm so glad you could make it this evening. Be sure and save me a dance. I don’t want Morgan to have you all to himself.”

She feigned a smile.

“Of course, I will save a dance for you.”

“The last one is mine, then.”

Before she could reply, he winked at her and turned to greet the next guest.

“What did he say?”

Morgan startled her out of her stupor.

“He asked me for the last dance.”

“I see. Be careful about your hand.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say? He is the crown prince. I can’t very well object now, can I?”

The music started, and the dancing began.

Dance after dance after dance. Everything was perfect, from the chandeliers and the orchestra. Everyone dances perfectly in time. Not one move out of place. She wondered if they had balls in the other world. Did they ever miss a beat or hit a wrong note? Why was this bothering her so? She tried to remember the first ball she went to, but she had been to so many by now she couldn’t remember it anymore. It was probably like this one. Those who didn’t dance gossiped along the outer archways. Servers passed out wine, refreshments, and hors d’oeuvres. The prince danced with every eligible woman he could, so why her? She was married; everyone knew that. He even winked at her. It made her skin crawl with anxiety. There were only five more dances.

Four more….

Three…

Two…

One…

“Ladies and gentlemen, the last dance of the evening.”

The crown prince found her and led her to the center of the room. She glanced toward Morgan. He was still like a statue, unblinkingly stoic. Why didn’t he do something? She felt sick.

The prince spun her around the ballroom. One hand around her waist, his other hand gently held hers.

“What happened to your hand?”

“I cut it…cutting roses.”

“Really? You come across as so graceful. Let me have a look. Maybe I could make it better.”

“No!”

He looked at her, taken aback.

“No, I mean Morgan looked at it and put ointment on it but thank you for the offer.”

“Is that so? I am glad he is taking such good care of you.”

After the dance had ended and they parted ways, the prince snagged her wrapped hand. She tried to draw her hand back from him, but he held firm. He looked at her hand and touched the blotch of skin.

“You’re reverting to...normal. You can’t stay here.”

She saw the panic in his eyes, and he took a step back… No, that was her panic reflected back to her.

“Guards seize her!”

The guards grab her arms. Morgan was suddenly right there trying to get to her. Attacking the guards and reaching her side, he grabbed her arm and started to run. The people around them scatter. It was a perfect illusion, like walls of glass were shattering around her. They stopped running once they reached the carriage.

“Don’t look back.”

“Where are we going?!”

“Home. I told you not to show anyone your hand.”

“I didn’t mean to show him. He pulled the wrapping off!”

He thought for a moment.

“There’s nothing to be done now.”

They arrive at their mansion. Morgan barked orders: told everyone to pack the master and mistresses’ things and ordered the chef to prepare food for the road.

“Clairice, change out of your gown. Here put this on.”

He handed her trousers, one of his shirts, and a clip for her hair. She changed as quickly as possible as soon as the clip was in her hair, and a hat on her head, banging at the front door, startled her. Morgan burst into the room. Panic and fear on his face.

“He is already here. We can’t escape this way, Clairice.”

The banging grew more persistent. The servants grew nervous.

“Master, they are at the door.”

“I said don’t let anyone in! I don’t care who it is! No one enters that door.”

“Yes, sir.”

The butler scurried out of the room. Morgan slammed the bedroom door shut and locked it. Then he started to pace.

“Morgan, they are going to break down the door…you know what needs to be done.”

He glanced toward the window with disgust. Clairice could finally go back. She could return to the other world and go to that cottage, but she would not go without Morgan.

“Let’s go, then.”

She takes his hand in hers and starts toward the window. He isn’t moving.

“I can’t go with you.”

“I won’t go without you, Morgan.”

“You must. You are becoming normal again so that you can go through the window. I am not…so I cannot return to that world with you….”

She doesn’t understand. Why he looked at her like that? Like His whole world is falling around him, and all he can do is watch. No! This can’t be happening to her.

“Hurry! They found something to break down the door!”

“No, please! I can’t! What will I do without you?!”

He thinks for one more moment.

“You will be fine, Clairice…

He brushed the tears away that filled her eyes. Tears pooled in his own eyes.

“What if I forget this world, and yo—”

“You won’t forget, please hurry. Who knows what the prince will do to you if the guards find you here.”

He kisses her.

“Goodbye, Clairice. I will find you in that world.”

She didn’t have time to say goodbye before he forced her out of the window. The moment she hit the ground, the window was gone, and she had landed in a field of green pasture and the cottage not so far away. She was free—from what she couldn’t remember.

Epilogue

An autumn breeze comes through the open window. Clarice had forgotten about it and left it open, but now she is too snug under the covers to close it. She needs to get up and start her day. There is a lot to do today—the farm won’t run itself. She is about to turn over and take another five minutes of sleep, but a sound catches her ear—whistling just down the lane. The dogs will start barking when whoever it is getting closer, and she will have to get up anyway to coral them.

Moments later, Clairice is up drinking her cup of tea and going through yesterday’s mail when she hears the whistling again. This time it is close enough to stir the dogs. Being a tad nosey, she peeks out the window to see a man coming up the lane toward her door. Who is coming to visit this time of the morning? As he came to her door, she decided to greet him before the dogs could rush out of the door.

“Good morning. Can I help you?”

The sun reflects on his muddy blonde hair, almost making a halo on his head.

“Good morning! I am looking for someone; perhaps you know her…Clairice Melbourne?”

Not sure she wanted to tell the man that he had found her, she weighed the pros and cons while quickly glancing at him. He didn’t seem like a bad man. Besides, someone from town probably sent him out here anyway, and if they didn’t, he would find out she had lied to him eventually.

“That’s me. Do I know you?”

“You did once, but you don’t seem to remember…we were friends once upon a time.”

“Is that so?”

He chuckles to himself. He isn’t bad looking. Clairice’s mother always told her she did have good taste, but most likely, this one was married—that seemed to be her luck.

“May I trouble you for some coffee?’

“I have tea.”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

“Have a seat here, and I will join you momentarily.”

He sits down on the porch stairs. Clarice fetches the tea, pours them both cups, and sits beside him.

“You said we were friends.”

“Aye, we were close friends.”

“Tell me then, if we were “close” friends, what is something that you would know about that isn’t common knowledge.”

“You have a scar on your hand.”

“That’s common knowledge.”

“It is, but what isn’t common knowledge is that you can’t remember how you got it, despite that being a rather big and noticeable scar that people wouldn’t normally forget how they got.”

Taken aback, she wants him to leave. Beginning to ask him too, but he stops her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you. I knew there was always a chance you would forget, but I had hoped you wouldn’t. I guess that was my scar—remembering.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Morgan Melbourne. You were my wife.”

The name clicks in her head. Almost like a horologist finding the right piece to fix a broken mantle clock. Morgan. Her Morgan. He found her like he said he would. She had forgotten.

“Morgan…you found me.”

“I said I would.”

“How?”

“It’s a long tale for another day. I want to enjoy sitting here, having tea with you, and enjoying this view. I never want to think about that world again.”

“Look at me.”

“What now?”

“I want to see your face.”

She scrutinizes him. Yes, his eyes are ocean blue, his hair muddy blonde, he had a bit of stubble coming through, and some gray coming in as well. She saw him as normal again-not in the form of constellations. The scar above his right eye and the tiny one on his lip was evidence of the accident he was in as a child. No longer did the scars hinder his appearance--they accented it. He was bothered by them anymore.

“Morg—”

Again, before she could finish, he silenced her with a kiss.

Finally, they were together and content. Never again did Clairice long for a view out her window because everything she wanted was right where they were, together.