The Blanket of Autumn

Autumn had surely laced its rolling hills with the finest of oranges and maroons and had doused its blue canvas above with patches of lilac. There was even an aroma of spiced cardamom and a subtle note of cinnamon and overripe apricots well mixed within the seasoned air. 

What a splendid time for a wedding, Lily thought. As if amidst the bitterness of winter and the harsh nature of summer, there is room for the gentle hand of warmth; a blanket that which cocooned this wedding in a delightful comfort. There is something for all individuals alike within the graces of autumn. Both days of orange and green glow with the lingering kiss of summer, and days of which the fingertips of winter promisingly grip onto one's shoulder as it whispers its cold, sweet nothings in the cusp of your ear.

"I think it is quite lovely." Lily's eyes roamed the grounds filled with bodies entirely unfamiliar to her. 

"But of course you do, for you were born in the season of the harvest. How could you not?" Margot spoke beside her while they wandered through a maze of chrysanthemums, pansies and snapdragons. 

Her thought to be fruitless words, however, were fruitful enough in the break of Lily's stroll. She paused beside an eggshell-like ceramic fountain, covered in what seemed to be disregard, but if Lily were paying attention, she would think the wild flora encasing it to be marvellous and meticulous. She would have surely found a way to make it seem as though it were a creative choice of nature. If she were paying attention to anything other than those words which burnt like a candlewick in the back of her mind.

Was this truly the case? Had her love for such a season been entirely owed to her time of birth? Something of which was merely a chance of fate, with no conviction of her own. Could it truly be so?

"Do you really think it so?" She stared right through her reflection, partially rippled rather than still; much of which resembled the state of her mind. 

"Oh but of course. Nobody loves a season like those who are owned by it." It was cruel how she made it sound like any other notion than this would be absurd; nonsensical. Like one could not love something unless it is merely a law of life to abide by. 

It was this very concept, however, that shook her from her momentary haze and rooted her returning smile and the cherries of spring which were again painted on her cheeks. "Oh Margot, how you plagued me. For there is no such thing as preconditioned love, or love that must simply be because you owe it so. You foolish girl, and to think I nearly was blackened by my own disarray of thoughts poisoned by your words of which lack any faith, or love." Lily shook her head, the feeling of autumn again swelling inside her. "I love not because I was told to, but because I merely wish to. It is that simple. For anyone could love autumn as much as me if they so wish it." 

Margot huffed and dropped the subject as if it were never a true interest of conversation. Though before either of them could flail about a new topic of conversation a symphony of chimes sounded, carried out by the wind. 

Margot began to follow the others inside, as a sheep would follow the herd then stopped once she felt the presence of Lily dim from beside her. "Come, they must be serving tea, or something from the vineyard by now."

"I will be in momentarily." Lily called over her shoulder; truthfully more inclined to watch the busy body of bees heeding their pollen-stricken desires than the busy bodies bustling inside to froth over the materialistic vices one began to grow fond of with the changing times. 

Lily followed the breeze that sang to her, like nature's very own sirenic melody, luring her into the depths of the maze. She flung herself into the hands of the soil beneath, worried not about the mess that may become of her silk dress. She relished in the warmth of the blossoming blades of grass tracing her skin gently. The leaves discoloured by the season she adored that have solemnly fallen from the tree's rebirth, crumble under her touch. She must be careful, or she would find herself lulled into a carefree slumber basking in the sunlight until the moonlight caressed her in the absence of her wake. 

"Are you lost?" An unfamiliar voice chimed in the distance.

Lily sat up, startled by the voice resonating from a corner of the maze she thought entirely empty. She gazed upon the familiar flowers and oak trees she had greeted on her stroll, until her eyes fell on a gentleman standing off to the distance. His tux, a baby blue you would find on the wings of a sparrow on the earliest of mornings, when the sun had not yet risen to awaken those who slept, and to signal those who had not yet slept that it was a brand-new day. 

"Oh, I do apologise! I did not think this corner of the maze to be accompanied already, excuse me!" She pushed herself up from the palms of the earth, much to her dismay. 

"You are not lost?" He did not sound as though he was sure of what he was saying, much less what he had heard. 

"I do beg your pardon, but you must have seen the state I was in just moments ago," She was making jest, yet she also perhaps was not at all, for everything she was about to admit were true. "You could not think one lying on the bed of the earth, basking in delight as I was, to be lost?" 

He stood still for moments that lingered too long to be comfortable. She wondered perhaps if she should save herself the embarrassment and take her leave now. Yet she couldn't, for she was so plagued by what the gentlemen may say or think, that she couldn't bear to leave until he had spoken again. 

"I suppose not." This time she could feel the presence of amusement behind his words. "Are the guests not supposed to be inside indulging in the perks of the vineyard?" She could feel his gaze peering into her soul.

"I could ask you much of the same question. For are you not a guest here too?"

He smiled, a smile so breathtaking that she was certain only very few must have the pleasure of such a sight. "I suppose it must seem that way." His voice had morphed into something entirely of a different nature; she wondered if perhaps that man she was conversing with before had all but been a figment of her overactive imagination. 

"And why are you withering out here on your lonesome when the function is inside?" He asked and he took a step towards her.

"Withering? I do beg your pardon. If this is what you deem withering, then I would most rather enjoy withering away for the rest of my being." To wither away in the sunlight, well she could hardly think of a more pleasant way to spend one's days. 

He stared at her for a moment. "Well, a life away from the wreckage and poison of civilisation could, I suppose, be more preferable."

"I am not sure you understood me." 

"Well then, what did you mean?" 

"I meant that I merely prefer the beauty of the world, rather than the beauty of the one staring you in the face in a pane of glass, or perhaps still water. No, I suppose it is not the people I am referring to, rather than the things they believe they own, of which matter of factly own them." 

"Ah, so you believe in the goodness of human nature then? That we are merely good creatures being swayed by temptations, of which none of the out coursed actions are at our fault?" 

"But of course." She smiled. "It is the things surrounding us that sway the choices that we make after all." 

"Is that the case? Or are the choices simply just our own and we look to vices and temptations to blame?" 

"Human nature is one of the things in life that you cannot use knowledge to talk your way out of. But going through life with such humanistic beliefs makes one's shoulders lighter."

He didn't speak again for a long while after that. 

"And why, may I ask, are you not inside either?" Her curiosity still a flame alight within her lungs, dwindling orange like the leaves that fell. 

"I hate small talk." He shrugged. 

"That is all?"

"What more should there be?"

"Well, I suppose there should be no more if that is all there is to your absence."

"There is no more." 

"I see." Her lips fell into a straight line. For a gentleman distinguished in this time, small talk is the essence of importance in all matters faced by a man. For one to not indulge in such a manner of society would be absurd.

Nonetheless, she didn't question him any further, for he was lucky to have met her, with a similar stance such as his own. 

"Are you perhaps a cynic?" The words fell upon her tongue like sickly-sweet honey. 

Although, he did not look as though he had even heard her accusation; which one would be either deeply offended by, or prideful in their egocentric views on the world. There are only two sides to the scale of cynics, and she wondered which end he would fall upon. 

"I suppose in this society, it would seem so." 

Men don't like to hear it, but they are rather predictable creatures. 

"One does not suppose they are cynical. It is but a coin. You are either heads or tails, you are, or you are not." She was unsatisfied with his answer. "So, which are you?"

"What about the edge? The bridge between the obverse and reverse? Much so like the earth; the gateway between the ideals of heaven and hell. Or if we are speaking of scales, what about the pendulum beam of which they both become balanced upon? What of that?" 

She pondered this, but more so she was contemplating the way he spoke. She didn't like the way that she enjoyed his speaking perhaps more than the conversation at hand.

"I see. Not many people acknowledge the importance of the role balance plays between opposing sides of any force. As I said before, in such a society as this, the way I speak and perhaps even think would be considered, if nothing else, as cynical. You are right. But you are also wrong. For it does not mean what you may think that it means. Nor does it necessarily mean what society has defined it so. To be cynical is to believe that we people are motivated by self-interest; or one is to be distrustful of human sincerity and integrity; or in the plainest of terms, to be selfish. Correct?"

"I suppose that is one way of looking at it. I do hope, however, you did not think my asking to be an insult. For I would not say selfish is a word I would use to describe someone who is just cynical." She shook her head.

He looked momentarily lost for words. "You do not think cynics to be selfish then?" 

"No. I don't think them to be selfish. I think them to be challenged." 

"Challenged how?" 

"Challenged in the face of life. For one could simply not be so distrusting and jarred of humans and their nature if one was not done horribly wrong by it. Do you not think?" Lily asked.

"I do." 

She nodded. "I am glad. At least I know we do see eye to eye, when it matters."

He watched her for a moment. A moment that with each passing second, heated her cheeks. "What is your name?" 

"Lily." The wind seemed warmer now.

"Of course, a name of the spring. Very suiting." He nodded.

"It is hardly as fitting as you think. I am a child of the harvest." She craned her head to watch the maroon leaves fall with a soft heaviness back down to earth, after living out their lives above. "I much prefer this season than any other, especially spring." 

"How interesting. I would have thought spring to be your favourite." 

She shook her head. "Has one never heard of the saying one should nay judge a book by its cover?"

"I suppose I have heard that before." He chuckled.

"I am sorry for bringing up such topics of conversation to a stranger nonetheless." She wondered what he must think of her now. 

"Rigby." He answered. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Rigby O’Connor. That is my name." He smiled. "Now we are not strangers."

She felt a heat beneath her cheeks that was unsettling, but oh, so warm.

"Somehow a conversation with a mere stranger felt more intimate than most of conversations I have had in my life with those I have come to cherish." 

"I agree." Lily smiled. "I wonder though if anyone is mourning our absence. I would like to think so." She peered over at the pavilion in wonder.

"I should hope to think so." There was something playing on his lips, as if he was aware of something she was not. Yet his eyes looked sullen, like somehow in a matter of moments they had lost all the intent and vigour they had purchased moments ago.

It was then that the tower chimed, and Lily counted, her pulse increased with every chime as she counted all the way to two in the evening. "Good heavens! It cannot already be two o'clock, I must truly bid you goodbye Mr-- Rigby. They will surely be missing me at this hour. Oh, how did the time escape me so? I do apologise for my swift departure. I only wish I had more time." She called as she pulled herself away from him, which felt wrong. 

"I suppose I must take my leave too. Goodbye Lily." His eyes drowned in a lack of confidence she had not noticed until now, although she was sure it was not there before. 

"It was nice meeting you!" She called out behind her as she ran forth with intent towards the house nearby the pavilion. 

He sighed. He couldn't help but wonder if he would ever get the chance to speak to her again. Would they ever cross paths again? 

The eerie calling of night tugged the strings of the sun, beginning its descent into the earth for a while until it has the strength to bear its light once more.

Lily had fallen in love with autumn, even at a young age she had held so many fond memories of autumn. Would this wedding be one of them? She found herself wondering. For the first time ever, words of another lingered in the back of her mind and she was plagued with the ideas of spring. If only it were spring, then she would have the birth of a new year before it was to be autumn again. She would have perhaps had more time. 

"Are you ready?" Margot smiled. 

Lily's nerves were bundled somewhere so deep she couldn't reach to unravel them, and before she had a chance to answer, the doors flew open and the warmth she thought she had lost forever found her cheeks once again, as she gazed into a set of mildly familiar eyes.

It couldn't be, could it? He was to be the one wedded to her? This was some cruel trick of fate. She held her breath until she was standing face to face with him. 

"You..." He whispered. "But, I was to be married to a woman named..." His eyes widened. "Lilieth."

She grimaced. "Don't ever call me that. Even when you are so upset with me you can barely stand to look at me. Please promise to never call me Lilieth." 

He shook his head with a soft smile. "Oh how foolish could one be?" 

"Promise me." 

He only shook his head. 

"Why not?" 

"I can guarantee you there will never be a day where I can not stand to look at you." He watched her face, her cheeks red with warmth. "Lily." 

She smiled. "Do you not call yourself a cynic? Do you not think the worst of me yet?"

He chuckled. "I do not believe myself to be a cynic. But my future wife, I have heard, does."

The minister began his proceedings into the dusk."Do you Rigby, take Lilieth to be your lawfully wedded wife?" 

"I do." His voice was soft, but sure. 

"And do you Lilieth," She grimaced, and Rigby smiled fondly. "Take Rigby to be your lawfully wedded husband?" 

"I do."

Lily doesn't know how it is to be true, but up until this moment she had not felt content. But standing here, in the hands of a stranger who is to become the person she will share the rest of her life with, she felt as though she had been waiting for this moment. Like she was perhaps made for this purpose; for him.

"I shall now pronounce you husband and wife." The crowd roared with applause. "You may now kiss the bride."

She had never felt more made for a moment in time than when his hand gently caressed her cheek and his lips found hers, as if they had been searching for them for lifetimes.