I Talk To The Spiders Now

My dearest Michael,

I must have looked so utterly confused that day you sought me out at Euston station, the year of 1839. How vulnerable and pathetic I was, lost amongst the travelling crowd. I was supposed to be visiting my sister, who I had not seen in some time, and who had recently become a mother to a supposedly beautiful and jubilant boy named Daniel. I was elated and could not wait to see her and my newborn nephew. But a panic came over me, of which I could not calm. Perhaps it was the bodies rushing around me or the state of stress I had been in those few weeks with my mother so ill. My heartbeat silently pounded as the sounds of the station took over; my eyes would not focus and so I closed them. Pushing against the flock of tailcoats, I retreated from the platform to collect myself, the structured chaos of the station surrounding me built as more carriages arrived. I did not see you coming, although I imagined you as swift as a serpent, moving between the vastness of canes and petticoats, your sights wholly fixed on myself. The clock struck twelve, informing people that these carriages were to depart, taking them to their imminent destinations. Those who were too late would have to wait. On the last chime I turned and was met with your daring smile in a grey suit so pristine it was almost silver. If I were praying for a guardian angel in those moments, your seeming rescue answered them. My panic was replaced with curiosity as I looked at a face that could only have been envied and adored by every other. You claimed my heart then without my knowing. The day we met. What was it about me that you had to look twice?

During what people described as our courting days, a word we both thought old-fashioned, our time together was bliss. Day-dream days clouded with words of love and your confessions of how I would not leave your thoughts alone. You had mastered the ways of a gentleman. When you offered me your hand to dance at John and Clarissa’s wedding, the room warmed as you became the focus of everybody’s attention, gracefully leading me across the floor. Next to you I was barley noticed, except by girls who would have tarnished their names to have been spun around that room with you. With every social appearance your reputation climbed higher and men gathered near you for reasons every one else did. You were contagious. With humour and conviction they said you were a threat to all women, including their wives. But you made it clear that I was your prize. Michael. As confident as you always were, you asked for my parents’ blessings whilst I anxiously waited. So charming were you, Michael, that you were even able to creep into my father’s good will. I was so proud of you, my darling, and with every day that passed my love for you bound my heart tighter. Did your longing for me grow deeper?

Until with the passing of my mother, I became forever fated to be yours. Her frail hand was cold as I held it. Her brilliant blue eyes survived only in the ring that enclosed the faded grey ones in their place. In the weeks that passed not much could elicit a response from me, but when it seemed nothing could suppress my grief, you were there. Your steady grip kept me from falling into darkness; instead it kept me with you. And in my storm of grief your light shone brightly for every part of my soul. Did death always surround you?

But it was our wedding night that came to be our most memorable one. You stayed so quiet; I thought that you must have been nervous. No, you were never the coward. What do you recall of me that night, I wonder? How I followed you to our room, as I would have followed you anywhere? My face, as I adored you? Or my fright upon it when darkness invaded yours. My white lace dress in the twilight worn only once for you. Or how my thick blood made it look even whiter.

Cold fear overwhelmed me as I was thrown into the abyss of your betrayal. Lain on our bed, you butchered my soft skin with a blade. Your deceitful calm remained but excitement rose inside of you with every cut. You said nothing. No words of malice. But you did not have to. Your eyes were transparent, revealing the demon and the true nature of your affections for me. Your hunt was over, your game was won. The indescribable relief I sensed in you, could not be tainted by the strange pity you felt for the helpless creature below. Atop of me, you looked at me and saw a rabbit locked in a wolf’s jaw. Everything you’d admired about me, every experience we’d shared was still there, but dull. It was all consumed by this desire. This desire that controlled all. Blood soaked my body and dyed the sheets and your gaze never parted from mine. In my last numb moments, you were there, as alive as ever. Michael. Why did you have to look twice? You buried me under the floorboards and I talk to the spiders now.

Yours always, Cecilia