Once In A Blue Moon

01 Delicate

You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.

— Oscar Wilde

☾

"I'm going to be one of those women cursed by the angels and sent to hell."

The smell of henna isn't something she has ever liked, nor the sight of it on her skin she has ever admired. The last time she ever colored her palms with it was now so lost in time that it is impossible to recall. Back in those days she was naive and dumb to reason, following whatever everyone else followed.

But things are different now, so is she, with her own free will to like or dislike without considering the popular or the folly of in-fashion. Traditions have always been her enemies, even now-- people worship them like God is supposed to be worshipped.

The delicate design in deep orange-brown shades crawl up her fair hands to a little above her wrists before disappearing under the sleeves of her red bridal dress. She hasn't ever fancied red bridal dresses either, nor the gold jewelery meant to laden the woman like a prize on display. Her choker actually feels like choking her and her head jewelery might just rip off her hair and leave bald patches in their places, she fears.

Life has gone full bull-mad mode on her only within a span of last few days. How unfair. There must be people somewhere happy and laughing-- she wants to be those people. Her free will of liking and disliking has failed to save her from the inevitable this time.

"Why do you say so?" Firozeh asks her.

The rumbling of the clouds in the distance is dull and frustrated, as if the sky relates to her and is complaining too. She tugs at her choker to loosen it a bit and fans her face with her hand, dragging her dress after her all around her bedroom before pulling apart the curtains and opening the long wall windows to let the air in. The rain that is falling is rabid as if in anguish, like the hot sandstorm of emotions within her body-- her heart feels seared. Her sanity is a mush and the last threads holding her resolve are close to breaking. Where is escape?

She looks out to the horizon bathed in all melancholic shades of gray, appearing like some stubborn, petulant child. How the nature mirrors her mood, she wonders. The world seems the same to her as in one's nightmares or graveyards, but where you're stuck and cannot wake up, and that drains your tranquility to fill the cup of devil. She must be on the receiving end of fate's wrath, but for what sin?

"Because I'm not going to be a good wife to my husband." She turns around to face her best friend and smiles ironically. "Mother says when you break your husband's heart, the angels curse you. The cursed ones go to hell, don't they?"

Firozeh only stares at her with a sad hue in her dark orbs.

"Why don't they mention punishments for husbands who break their wives' hearts?" she complains. "Why is that less talked about?"

"How has he broken your heart?" her friend argues.

"By marrying me."

"You agreed to this."

"I was made to."

"You didn't care back then."

"Because back then, I didn't know the truth about him."

Firozeh sighs and shakes her head at her in dismay, as if disappointed in her. The embroidery on her pine-green dress glitter as she walks towards her, twinkling like stars. She doesn't know how she's carrying this heavy dress with ease. She has difficulty lifting even her finger.