Stories

Madeline's ink-stained hand intuitively left the same thumbprints on the letter that Claire left while putting it there. Claire apologised in it. Apologised for the ink which was dripping onto the wooden boards even now. Seemingly written in a haste, it was still undoubtedly clear to Madeline that it was written by her dear friend. Perhaps even the ink for that very second also stopped falling as the realisation crept up Madeline's throat, her mouth open agape, trying to breathe, shaken to the core. Madeline couldn't even turn to anger at such a deep betrayal; the university's high class that Claire was a part of set up a bucket of Prussian blue ink to fall down on Madeline. A silk-woven dress, the finest, perhaps the only objectively fine thing she owned, now beyond repair.

Madeline was a shepherd's daughter from the countryside near Marseille. Claire had a similar background but was seemingly able to hide the scars of her Scottish Highlands upbringing. Perhaps 'Claire' wasn't even her real name, thought Madeline. Why bother not starting there? Regardless of how much they actually became fond of each other, something about Madeline had to be fundamentally different from Claire. Had to. Perhaps the pack of wolves misinterpreted Claire's manual labour-stricken body as the battle scars of a ferocious lioness. Madeline wasn't even granted safe passage anymore. Her only shot at a friend at the university was relinquished much like her fit of rage in the moment. She understood Claire. She had to do it. Madeline's way of life wasn't a way at all. Truly, maybe she would jump at the chance for a place at the blue blood's fountain herself.

Madline would go down to the river to try and wash away what she was able to. She would wash away the sins of her friend for certain. That was how she was brought up: with a belief. Her rural community's devotion to their belief pulled the seams together. Even now that they were bloated to knots it was only grazed. A gift for the first girl of their blood to pursue a higher education. A belief that sins were always washed away in the blood of a lamb.)