Meaning

“Meaning”

The midday sun shone brightly through the canopy of intertwined flower vines above. The light was cast on the two people walking through the tunnel of hanging flowers in a patchwork of shadows. Daphne was the first to reach the end of the tunnel. As she stepped from under the canopy, she shaded her eyes from the harsh sunlight that had flitted so coyly between leaves and vine only a moment before. The dark haired girl couldn’t help but feel her face crack into the smallest of smiles as her skin began to warm. She took her hand from her face and turned to look back to the shaded tunnel of flowers. Slightly blinded by the sudden light, she could only see the barest hint of a human form walking towards her from the shadows. Only when she stepped out from the dirt path, littered with dead, fallen flowers, and onto the plush grass, was she recognizable. Adelaide carried a basket with her that held a pair of pruning shears. Her white linen dress furled up in a sudden breeze and she gave a laugh of delight as she held onto her sun hat with a gloved hand. The little girl watched her curiously, holding strands of hair away from her face, her own dress fluttering.

“It’s been so long,” the older woman murmured as the wind left, “Since I’ve seen the garden so beautiful.”

Daphne continued to watch her mother as she began to make her way to a blossoming tree. Adelaide drew one of the low hanging clusters of yellow flowers down, without removing it from the branch. She smelled them quietly with her eyes closed and after a moment she spoke again.

“Daphne, do you remember what this is?”

The girl took a moment to step forward and take a close look at the yellow flowers that created a ceiling above her.

“... Acacia?” she ventured hesitantly.

“Correct,” The woman gave a placid smile, opening her eyes to look at her daughter, “and what is its meaning?”

This took the girl a moment longer, she ran her eyes searchingly over the tree, as if to find an answer hiding between the branches, ripe for the picking.

“I think it means secrets?” She phrased her response as a question a second time, which garnered her an amused smile from her mother, which she returned half heartedly. Daphne curled a ringlet of hair on a finger nervously, her eyes flitted away from the woman’s face to the flowers above her. She gave herself a moment to think before she said, “secret love.”

Adelaide nodded contentedly and moved away from the tree towards a bank of mixed flowers. Daphne followed as her mother knelt down in the grass, taking care to go gently so as not to stain her white dress a vivid green. She handed her one of the gardening shears and began to snip the stalks of lilies, daffodils, and daisies. Only the white flowers were gathered.

The girl followed as her mother moved to the tall wall of multicolored roses that encompassed the garden. Daphne was surprised to see many of the roses had withered on their stalks.

“Why did they die, Mother?” she asked, tenderly taking a brown rose in her hand. As she touched it, the flower crumbled to dust.

“Their meaning was lost.” Her mother responded, as she managed to find a white rose amidst the decay. Adelaide snipped it, taking care to remove the thorns, and tucked it in her daughter’s hair. The girl gave her a half smile in return.

“Why do we cut the sick ones Mother? Maybe they can get better?” Daphne said but when she looked her mother was shaking her head.

“They’re already dead Daphne.” Adelaide said, taking care to avoid the thorns of the dead flower. “Unless we cut the dead flowers, new ones won’t have enough food to bloom. We leave the dead roses on the ground, their nutrients will feed the new roses.”

The woman in the white dress set about cutting off all the dead flowers and the small girl tried to do so as well, pricking herself several times in the process. In her mind she imagined vibrant roses of all colors, blooming brilliantly above the skeletons of dead roses. By the time they were done, the lattice that held the roses was so bare they could clearly see what was behind it. 

Behind the roses was a grey mansion, gothically styled with pointed arch doorways and flying buttresses. It was a giant building that loomed over its sprawling green land like a large tangle of bleached thorns. Mother had told her once that it used to be a cathedral. The black haired girl turned away from it, looking back upon the garden.

It was at that moment she spotted dazzling purple flowers growing amidst the yellows, reds, and whites. She made her way along the edge of the flower bed until she arrived at a spot where she could only just reach the purple flower with her shears. As she cut it she took the flower in her hands, cradling it softly. 

“What do you have there?” The girl's mother questioned as Daphne grew still with realization at the flower she held.

“Monkshood,”she said shakily, dropping the flower and rubbing her hands on her dress desperately as panic rose inside her. She began to shake as icy fear made its way through her, the warmth from earlier gone. 

“Oh,” Adelaide remained unnervingly calm, she made her way to Daphne and picked up the flower, tucking it in with the rest of the flowers, the deep purple shocking against the white.” don't worry, the poison is in the roots, just make sure not to eat any.”

The girl looked up at her mother's calm face and felt as if her brown eyes had washed away all the anxiety that had struck her when she realised she held a powerful poison in her hands. Her mother took her small hands in her own and squeezed them, smiling beatifically.

“Why don't you take these and head back to the house? I think it’s about time for your lessons to begin.” she said as she let go of her daughter’s hands, removed the monkshood from the basket, and passed the basket over to her daughter.

Daphne nodded, glad to be heading back inside. Though she enjoyed the sun, it was starting to make her sweat. She went onto her toes to give her mother a kiss on the cheek then made her way back home under the canopy of flowers.

As she walked back she began to feel progressively worse. She felt dizzy, like the world was suddenly out of focus, like there was something disjointed in her mind. She made it out of the long winding canopy and to the cluster of grey standing stones that marked the edge of the property before she collapsed. Is this the monkshood? She wondered as she hit the ground.Her body began to convulse in a seizure. Daphne let her mind slip away into the dark.

Daphne dipped her bare feet into a black lake. Technicolor ripples erupted; she held her legs still until the water calmed. It looked like her feet were missing, her legs cut off at the shin. It was a strangely comforting place. It was neither cold nor warm, and though nearly everything was black, she could see just fine. She gave her obsidian reflection in the water a hearty grin. She held her contented grin for some time, sloshing her feet through the water but slowly the expression faded. How long had she been here and why was she here in the first place? The questions soured her mood as she tried to remember. 

    She fainted and then started convulsing. Why? Then she remembered a certain purple flower with poisonous properties. Of course it had been the monkshood, what else could leave her in such a terrible state? Perhaps she was dead. Maybe, the dark was a place for dead things.

She was suddenly startled from her thoughts as she heard a splash from the far side of the inky lake, the sound carrying in the emptiness. She pulled her feet from the water and pulled her legs to her chest as the many colored ripples helped her track something swimming towards her underwater. Before she could move a step away, she saw that the thing had stopped. Its white head broke the surface and looked at her. It looked like her mother, but bleached of all color and her skin slightly bloated.

“Daphneee…” it said in several slightly out of synch voices, it held the ‘e’ at the end of her name longer than it should have, ending the sound with a gurgle. The head’s mouth had opened to mimic the motion of speaking but even though the words had stopped, its jaw hung open. Its hair was as dark as the lake making it look as though the black water was flowing out from the thing’s scalp.

“What do you want?” Daphne asked after some time had passed. Her voice shook. “Stop using my mother’s face!”

After a moment, the thing’s mouth snapped shut, its eyes rolled, and the head cocked to one side. The head kept leaning to one side until it disappeared beneath the water. Bubbles began to surface and pop like the water was boiling.Another head dipped out of the water. It was a man with a crudely shaped mustache. It looked like her father, crafted out of smoothed white clay.

“Daph-”

“Stop it! No more tricks, show yourself!” she demanded squaring her shoulders and staring intently at the head.

An age seemed to pass. Slowly the head submerged itself and something entirely different began to emerge. It was white and horrid, every inch of it was twisted into painful wrongness. The wretched creature stood in the water and she swallowed a scream. She had fallen to her knees. She couldn’t close her watering eyes despite how much her whole being was begging to get away from the manifestation of torture that stood swaying before her. This was death itself, come to see her personally. 

“r...ay,” a whisper of many voices could be heard over the sound of the water that sloughed off the gruesome form. “r...w”

Daphne strained her ears, trying hard to listen to what the voices were saying.

“Run away…,” it said clearer this time, training its many milky white eyes on the girl.

“What?” she said dumbly before she could stop herself. She realised the fringes of the dark place were beginning to fray away leaving something brighter in its place. The seizure was ending.

As the world began to fall away the creature swayed then sank slowly into the water. Before it could be completely submerged it said something disturbing.

“Don’t… trust… Raymond.” With those words, the last bit of its terrible body was deep within the black lake.

The reprieve from the creature’s presence was short-lived as the world began to brighten. She felt warmth settle around her. She was comfortable.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a familiar ceiling with plaster vine patterns along the edges. It was dark. Rain pattered outside as soft far off thunder rolled in the distance. She slowly lifted the thick covers that enveloped her and shifted her legs so they dangled off the side of the bed. She moved off her bed tenderly, noticing she was now wearing a silk nightgown. ‘Did mother change my clothes?’ she wondered, making her way quietly across the room. Before she could reach the door, her foot caught on something in the low light and she stumbled. She accidentally kicked the thing to the wall where it made a shattering sound.

“Oh no,” she moaned in frustration.

The kicked object had landed in a pool of grey light shining in from the window.  The light revealed a porcelain doll. Daphne made her way towards it. She had had the doll since before she’d been born. Fond memories of the adventures she’d had with it resurfaced then crashed as she turned it on its back to assess the damage. Spider webbing cracks and missing shards of porcelain marred the painted face of the doll. Half its face lay on the floor, revealing what should have been the empty cavity of its head. Instead, the girl realised there was a neatly folded piece of paper, only just visible in the half light of the rainy day. 

“What is this?” she asked no one in particular as she stuck her fingers inside the doll’s head to remove the paper. She couldn’t reach it despite her efforts, the paper was stuck behind the remaining half of the doll’s face.

Daphne hesitated. She could either leave the doll with half a face and let the little folded paper stay inside its head . Or, she could break what was left of the doll and find out what secrets were hidden inside. While she made her decision, she noticed the round bead of the doll’s missing eye had rolled to look at her unblinkingly. Unsettled, she shifted her gaze back to the remnants of the doll's face. She began pressing her thumbs hard into the cracked surface. The porcelain gave all at once, leaving a shard or two to pierce into one of Daphne’s thumbs, drawing blood.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed as she drew her injured hand away from the doll, She sucked on her thumb lightly before she became embarrassed at the childish mimicry of sucking one's thumb. She took it from her mouth and was surprised to see the wound closing before her eyes. After a moment, all that was left of the gash on her thumb was a slight ache. 

Daphne was unsure what this meant, perhaps the wound hadn’t been as bad as it seemed. She pushed it from her mind, she would deal with it later. She turned her attention back to the doll and pulled the folded paper from the wreckage. She unfolded it and her curiosity was set on fire as paper held a letter written in elegant handwriting. It addressed her by name in the greeting.

The letter read as follows:

“Dearest Daphne,

I leave this note as consolation for when this doll meets her untimely end. For though the gods know when she shall be driven from this mortal coil, I myself am a mere man. Therefore it stands to reason we should prepare for the event appropriately, doing what we can to steel ourselves for that most saddening moment. In all truth I do not know whether I will be with you when this doll is lost to you. Maybe I too will be lost. If such an event were to pass, if we ourselves were to be separated from one another, then… I want it to be known that your father loves you. I love you my dearest Daphne. Whether I be near or far, together or apart, alive or dead. You will always be my little girl.

Love,

Fabian Morrison”

The little black haired girl let the words pour over her mind like a sweet soothing melody. Until she read the signature. That wasn’t her father’s name. Her father's name was Raymond Montague. She read over the letter again. It was definitely addressed to her, but who was this man claiming to be her father. Confusion turned her thoughts into a flurry.

It was then that she heard a soft sound from outside her room’s door. A rhythmic shuffling sound, like something was being dragged across the wood floor. Daphne put down the doll, then rose, making her way towards the door. She leaned down slightly, put her weight against the door, and looked through the keyhole. 

It was her mother. She’d been beaten and was unconscious. One of her eyes was swollen shut. She was being pulled by the collar of her dress by a bloody knuckled hand that belonged to someone she couldn’t see.

The little girl’s eyes began to water and she made a whimpering sound before she could stop herself. lcy cold dread filled her at the involuntary noise and she clambered away from the door. She quickly gathered the doll and its broken pieces in the skirt of her nightgown all the while hearing the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock. She slid in bed and pulled the covers over her body. She feigned sleep as someone entered the room. Heavy steps slowly made their way towards her and it felt like her heart was clenched in a vice grip. Then the person who had beaten her mother unconscious touched her face, smoothing a wet thumb over her cheek. She could feel that the thumb had left a trail of something. Then the person began to retreat, the more the steps receded the less fearful she grew. She peeked through her lashes at the brute and only saw his back as he closed the door, but she knew who he was.

She waited for some time under the covers, waiting for him to come back and beat her too, but he did not come. Daphne sighed and relaxed minutely, a line of tension still kept her shoulders rigid. She got up from her bed, leaving the destroyed doll under the sheets. It had turned to night by the looks of the amount of light filtering through the storm clouds. Thunder clapped loudly and white light filled the room for an instant. Daphne caught her reflection in a mirror that was placed on her dresser. Her dark ringlets of hair were wild. Fear made her face look smaller and weaker than ever. She had a dark smear across her cheek. Anger filled her. A great and terrible feeling that screamed over the cries of fear, drowning them in fiery rage. Her father, Raymond, would pay for hurting her mother.

She strode towards the dresser and snatched up her small candleabrum. She opened her dresser and searched for a matchbox. She scrounged around in the drawer becoming more and more frustrated until she tore the drawer from the dresser, throwing the heavy wood onto the floor, scattering the clothes that were inside. She panted surprised she had been able to lift so much. She clenched and unclenched her hands, not sure what to do without light when she spotted the matchbox on the side table next to her bed. She sighed in relief, grabbing the box. She struck a match and lit the candleabrum, then left her messy room behind to venture into the hallway.

The first thing she noticed was the streaky trail of blood leading towards the stairs. She ignored it and went the opposite direction, making her way towards her parents room. When she arrived and tried the handle, she sighed resignedly. Every door in the house was to be kept locked, only unlocked when in use. One of her father's rules. Daphne ground her teeth. Her anger grew again and she hit the door with a clenched fist. She would have to find the key.

 Deciding not to waste anymore time, the girl ran away from the door. She took care to avoid the squeakier floorboards as she went down the stairwell.