Long Time Ago

Lilka ran.
Birds cried.
Some ways ahead, she glimpsed a wooly gray cloak swish out of sight beyond a hill…Stanislaw. Her dark eyes widened in recognition.
“Stanislaw!” she chirruped. “Wait for me, my lamb! My wizard!”
The wind kissed her bonny face, tangled her skirts. She cried out in laughter and swept her arms about like pinwheels. Glitter shot from her fingertips, dusting the sky in cottony pink. Her heart drummed fast and sharp. Despite, her heart was light with an unexpected joy.
Springtime rushed past in its vivid blur. The sun bathed her face in heat, made her inky locks shine rosily. Daffodils and poppies carpeted the grass under her bare feet. She danced among them like a flower herself, all springy and glowing. Shade from the surrounding maple trees dappled everything spotty. Magenta Prairie was stunning.
She flew down the hillock, chasing that silver cloak. But alas! Stanislaw was not to be found. Where was he? She pondered it for a second. He had to be close by, perhaps behind a tree. Or mayhap he had magicked himself invisible! She sprinted faster in fervent pursuit, so fast that the world disappeared. Pale sapphire was the sky. Red and yellow specks blistered under her eager feet.
“Lilka!” It was his voice!
“Are you there?”
Lilka came to a jittery stop, dizzy. Her legs felt like jelly. Sweat dampened her neck. One thing she knew for certain: she had run forever. Forever constituted…eighteen long and desolate years? Yes, she was eighteen. How had time slid past her so slyly? Ten years ago seemed nonexistent, even five…thirteen was none so complicated as eighteen, especially for a woman. Then the world lurched, rotated…looked gauzelike….
“I’m right here! Open your eyes, fool-lady!” It was her sweetheart again, talking to her from nowhere.
“Where are you?” she yelled breathlessly, getting more frustrated by the second.
But there was no time to be angry. The world was spinning too fast, spiraling into nothingness. Her heart had stopped beating so fiercely. In fact, now it hardly beat at all. She felt made of wood. Each eyelid weighed millions. She couldn’t lift them, couldn’t lift this nightmarish daze. Fear and trepidation goggled through her veins, gripped her with their vise-like hands.
Then, suddenly, the soles of her feet collided into something waxy and velvety. Had she been flying? She certainly hadn’t felt anything solid under her feet since everything sped up so wild.
Lilka gazed. Far and wide, a sea of blooms scoured the land: ruby-petaled poppy bulbs and sunny, bold daffodils. They shimmered beautifully. Next, her head dropped and she gazed no more. Black hair pushed itself around her face. It had lost its auburn sheen.
In truth, the entire of Magenta Prairie had lost its luster. Clusters of maple trees, once so green and verdant, faded to a chalky stain. Pastel powder piled up on the brittle branches. The perfectly blue sky fell away to rows of milky haze. This fog dispersed itself doggedly, fluttering like a disease, infectious among the lovely blossoms. Lilka could no longer see the cheerful red and yellow heads. She no longer heard the shrieks of birdsong; no longer saw the glorious golden sun. It nearly broke her heart, seeing the fairytale land crumble.
In all this uproar of nature, she had squeezed her eyes shut. Cool scuttled across her face, danced upon her eyelashes and froze them. The temperature dropped severely. White flakes wheeled from the heavens, zigzagging in the still air.
“No, my fairy story…you don’t exist, don’t survive,” she told herself, with eyes still screwed shut. “Nothing’s here, I’m not really here either.”
Even life, capricious though it was, couldn’t play such an imaginary trick as this.
Lilka opened her frozen eyes. Her bare feet were dusted in a fine layer of snow. Yet they were not cold, not even wet.
“Lilka, what’s the matter…?” a blurry voice cried out, shocking in its concern. It whispered, “Awaken.”
Then she closed her eyes again. A shiver raced up her body.
The voice said, “Snow is harmless for the most part, anyways.”
***
When Lilka did at last awaken, it was to the horrid sound of scraping. Digging…the iron clunk of a shovel.
“What’s going on?” she said, her words jumbled like potpourri.
She was cold, freezing cold. Goosebumps pricked their way up her arms and legs. All around was the blinding white glow of snow. Above stretched a black cobweb of tree branches. They were blanketed in sleeves of snow. For a confused second, she wondered if she was still dreaming.
“No, I’m awake,” she told herself resolutely.
“Ah yes, you are,” a voice said.
Lilka pushed herself up on her elbows. She wore a snowy white robe. The sleeves were lace-edged and billowy. Gently, she brushed her fingers across the fabric. It was dry…dry and stiff. However, underneath, she wore a thick black gown. Its woolen material had soaked up much of the melting snow, and thus was slightly damp.
“Who s-said that?” she swept h
“Who s-said that?” she swept her frost-dusted hair off her shoulders and gazed about for who had spoken. When she didn’t see him immediately, she whispered, “Stanislaw?”
“Miss, I’m not Stanislaw and I’ve no idea what’s going on,” he spoke again.
Still he remained invisible.
Now a little bothered by this whole act, she scrambled to her feet and flapped her robe and gown to rid them of powder. “Show yourself! I know you’re there…this is no dream!”
To her great surprise, a man stepped from behind a knotted bush….
Lilka nearly jumped from her skin and bones. It was awful. It was awful the way he looked at her, the way his cold eyes drilled into hers, awful the way he sauntered towards her catlike. Long black hair fell over his face to shroud his eyes silent. However, the way he walked was still horrid. It was slow and menacing, predatory and stalking.
“What do you want, M-mister?” she cried. “I beg of you, don’t hurt me!”
“Aye, don’ hur’ the girl, Atanazy…” A woman’s voice this time
“Aye, don’ hur’ the girl, Atanazy…” A woman’s voice this time…
Lilka leapt into the air in a strange, wild fright. She nearly stumbled and her eyes kept darting about madly. This was a nightmare…she must still be asleep. After all, was she being cornered? Did this sinister man before her have companions just as wicked?
“Y-yes,” she stammered in a soft voice, “I’m a-asleep, it’s only a nightmare, only a….”
Then everything happened so unbelievably fast that Lilka could hardly keep up with it all. The dark-haired one, with a twisted smile afflicting his face, kept sauntering towards her. His fleecy black boots cut deep circles in the frost. The velvet cloak he wore—it was pine green, not gray—slipped across the snow, bobbing behind him.
But that was not the fast part….
Someone burst from a snow pile in an explosion of white powder. With skinny, gloved fingers outstretched and blonde hair unruly, she rushed at the man like a killer.
“You better stop!” she screamed. “You demon!”
Wi
With that, she leapt on top of him and pulled them both to the ground. Buried deep in the snow, Lilka had a hard time seeing anything. She was nearly frozen with shock. What on earth was going on?
Snow and fleece and dark hair flew like fabric in a sewing mill. Lilka saw only seconds of the fury: the blonde lady’s face, marred by her seething expression…the man’s scowl, sharp white teeth and red mouth…torn emerald velvet….
The blonde lady, noticeably exasperated, stopped suddenly. Pinned helplessly into the drifts of snow, the man had not a chance. She had a gloved hand pressed around his forearm, the other clapped over his mouth, and her knees on top of his thighs. A fiendish grin slit her face and she pulled something glittery from a pocket. Lilka strained to see, for she had taken several steps backward in alarm. Was that a knife? Whatever the object was, the man clearly grew very frightened. His distressed mumbles and violent movements choked up Lilka’s senses. She bit her lip in
She bit her lip in sorrow, torn between two sides. Dark tears welled in her big eyes.
Gripping it tight, the lady drew back the shiny thing and, with a terrible slowness, plunged it forward. Lilka pinched her eyes together and wrung her hands, hopping in circles and feeling sick.
“Aha! Victory for me!” came the woman’s shrill cry. “You girl! Come here and see! Come to reap the wonders of a victory well met!”
But Lilka had started to cry. She submerged her face in the dry white lace of her robe. She stared into the soft darkness. Hot tears surged in her eyes. They met her tongue and tasted salty. Her face felt tense, her emotions prickly.
“Why?” she sobbed thickly. “Why? Why?”
Quiet, tentative footsteps penetrated her lacy shelter. Lilka smelled something metallic…and beyond that, something mild and sweet. However, she only wept harder. She wept loudly and recklessly.