Everything was here. Every emotion she hoped for, feared, and prayed for by her window still. It was still his game of having a romp in the inn but somehow, for once in forever, he had included her. As though she was as important as his pleasure.
Primitive forms of human life enveloped her as he took her, biting, cursing, and thrusting. Dark locks damp with sweat covered his forehead when he paused and leant over her. Unknowingly, she just touched them slightly, delicately, unlike his strong, harsh movements that seemed to hurt more than give (at the very least) contentment.
He was never this saliently passionate man, or if he was, it was never towards her. His calm, grey-blue eyes were like the elf men told in stories, the sort that enchanted and animated the lifeless and wan. Their rarity was exceedingly prized, all the women in the village yet unmarried sought after him like the dogs pounce upon pieces of meat in the alleys.
When she sewed while tending the ducks he was there riding his stallion without a care into the bucking wall of bulls. He would stay tussling his hair as he walked down the dirt path into the pub in the village square. The other boys would seem to fade away when he was around. Like the silent boat stuck in the swamp when the mist came or when the waters rose.
He did show it once, his longing. When he took her out on his boat telling her he was lonely. She had not known yet, the desire she now felt. He was just a friend, no; he was just a boy attractive enough but too far out of her reach. He was the baron's loaded son. A striking lad of fifteen whom every girl save herself vied for his attention.
He rowed out to the middle of the pristine lake with her trailing her hand nervously in the water. Would he like me? She tried to tame her mass of curls into a neat twist and tried to rub the stain off her cotton dress from the mud in the fields. Unbeknownst to her, there was a streak of dirt on her cheek and straw in her hair from helping her older brother muck out the barn.
He laughed and took out a clean linen handkerchief and wiped it off while she flushed. He stopped abruptly and she wished he could just go on rubbing against her skin with his touch, without the linen as smooth as it was. He accidentally brushed against her bosom.
Flames shot through her body in a mixture of delight and fear. She spoke calmly but still heard her audible voice breaking.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing"
"Don't dare come any closer."
"Aw, missus, I'm sorry." His odd accent put her off yet she could see his eyes were trying to apologize without showing his weakness. She knew he was afraid that the other boys would find out he was shy of touching a girl.
"I won't tell"
Daringly, for a lass of thirteen, she clasped his hand endearingly. All the boys in the village were her older brothers but she was not their little sister in the way she hoped. He advanced and gently kissed her on the lips.
It was nothing, a childish attempt at showing affection. It stung her. She liked it but this was the boy so many wanted, who was to say he would be true to her. She was not the girl who believed in the fairy tales like Cinderella. She only trusted the tragic dances of Giselle when a man only realized a woman's worth once they left.
Anger welled up inside her as she indignantly slapped him. He was only playing with her. This was just a single moment of him playing her lover. It would be gone too fast. He would leave for the milkman's daughter or the grocer's niece. She would never let anyone fool around with her heart and leave it to rot in the streets like decaying flesh.
Now, she knew that the moment he showed his affection and love was then. Not now. Now was his chance to get back at her for forsaking his first attempts at showing her his love. He had taken off his clothes again and was using her like a pillow and she could feel herself being soiled. They had loved each other at different times. Him in his younger boyhood and herself as she cried on the bed for the loss of his heart. She was now needy, crying, and recoiled even as she would grab him at the same time.
Why hadn't she followed her girlhood instincts? Everything that was applied then on the boat in summer would serve her purpose of locking him, the frosty devil of winter outside the boundaries of her self-built cage. Now she believed in a fairy godmother that would save her from this well-side weeping.
Nothing more to say but to put on the cotton camisole and woolen skirt as he left the room without so much as a goodbye. Copper coins were left on the table. Therefore, she was his whore now. No longer a lover who gave willingly, but a prostitute who just accepted whatever shillings or payments left at the bottom of his pocket. Sobbing harder, she curled into herself on the rough wooden floor at the lonely corner.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she cursed her decisions and crudely wrought heart.