Salvation of Ignorance

Chapter 15: He Played His Role

"And how did you find the celebration?" Lucrecia inquired while siting at Phoebe's bedside. 

The American girl had seen the party to its completion to show respect to those wishing to gather euphorically in her honor. Conversing and dancing for the duration, with minimal periods of rest, had her seeking her chamber at the day's conclusion. However, it had become a ritual that her Nana saw her for sleeping farewells. 

Which concerned Phoebe that she may have to take Nana home with her to ever sleep again. 

"Delightful," Phoebe breathed while sinking into the recess of her welcoming pillow. "I heard compliments upon every detail you made a point to address." 

Her grandmother released a parted-lip smile as she lowered her head and laid a hand atop Phoebe's. "I'm happy to hear of our guests' satisfaction." 

Phoebe sat up. "Oh, no. I meant that to express the success of the event. And how welcoming those attending were. But everything was divine and I merely wished I had more time to admire your craft." 

Lucracia expressed a light laugh, that Phoebe almost mistook for a breath, while gazing up from her lowered head. "No, I was much more delighted to see you enjoying yourself in dance. Though..." 

'Though'? 

Nana returned her gaze to her hand as she grazed it over the back of her granddaughter's. "Phoebe. Darling, sweetest Phoebe. Are you--well, times may have changed since I was a girl--, but are you aware of the implications of a second dance?" 

Despite having a partner for every dance that night, there were too few dances available for her to accept the hand of anyone a second time. All except for one gentleman. 

"'Implications'?" Phoebe forgot to blink. 

"Again, times may have changed, but generally it is a sign of interest." 

"'Interest'?" Phoebe was now peaking over her knees with her hands steadying themselves by grasping her patellas. 

Her grandmother began fiddling with the ring on her pinky. "It could be merely a sign of friendship, but usually the desire for proximal distance is a sign of affection of the romantic kind." 

"'Romantic'?" Phoebe's grip tightened. 

Lucrecia shrugged her lip. "Well, I say 'romantic' to name the term gently, for this is not a favorable topic to share with one's granddaughter. My main point is to advise you to accept the hand of only those you wish to encourage a future attachment with." 

Then her Nana beamed and patted Phoebe's knee. "Now, enough of this. You must be exhausted. Sweet dreams, my love." 

She kissed her granddaughter's forehead, then quit the room and clasped the door behind her. Phoebe didn't budge an inch. Her skin was a hollow crustaceous shell and her only successful function was converting oxygen to carbon dioxide. 

Then, like the spark of a match, her stomach resurrected. 

There was no certainty that Niall Claremont wrote sonnets in her honor. But she had been given a sliver of a chance that she held residency amongst his list of desires to be completed before transcending from the mundane world. And such a sliver had her in cold feverish sweats.

She wrapped her bed quilt about her. A meager defense in battling the minotaur-of-chills threatening to blanch her skin forever sickly. Her face was forced  into her pillow.  She needed to muffle the groan intended to distract her from the gorgons creating turmoil in her liver. Such an unbearable dramedy she displayed. Only one verdict could call its curtain.