The Purple Cloak

This was my favourite time of day, mid-morning, the sun hiking it's way up the pale blue sky, casting a subtle warmth across the cobbles town paths, a stark shadow of the trees against the wooden buildings. The sound of voices melded into one bustling hum as I neared the main market street, stalls of all different kind lined up, people all on their morning errands. Colours of all the fruit and vegetables ripe from the warmth of oncoming spring flooded my vision.

I noticed a cloaked figure, unmoving by the wall of the buildings that fringed the street. Who wore cloaks in this town?

“Morning Elizabeth darlin' here, try the new grapes we had stocked in from down south” A familiar voice sounded behind me, pulling me back into focus.

 A smile crept on my features as I watched Mary, a lady who cared for me like one of her own daughters, and a dear friend to my late mother. Her aged features were covered with kindness, though her voice expressed an unmistakable strength. I picked a grape from a bunch, enjoying the sweet flavour before packing the basket clutched at my waist, full of vegetables and fruits. I smiled my thanks as I continued, setting out to complete the main task I’d been given, collecting the fabrics for the store.

“Back for more are we, Eliza?” I nodded to the kind man behind the counter, his shortness was counteracted by his unwavering posture, a clear confidence in every movement he made. It was inspiring, how even though most look down upon him, he moved in a way that made you feel as though he towered above you.

I offered him my thanks as clutched the pile of fabrics to my chest, heading off to the store my family worked at.

I neared the smaller street in which my families tailoring business was stationed. The sound of hooves bouncing off the walls of the buildings either side of me, as the horses pulling carriages travelled down the paths. No doubt the curtains inside were closed, it wasn’t a surprise that people tried to prevent attention to themselves in these parts of town, though travelling in a carriage composed to such beauty was not supportive in diverting the attention of passing civilians. I let out a scoff before changing my attention to the sun above me, allowing myself to savour the rarity of it emerging from behind the clouds.

My focus changed as a figure moved in the corner of my eye, I turned slightly to notice it was the figure I’d seen earlier, but I now was able to see their attire in full, though their face hid behind the fabric of the cloaks hood. They wore a full-length cloak, but it wasn’t something I usually witnessed on streets like these. Though it seemed dark enough to be black, the fabric was unmistakably a deep purple, and it reflected the suns light in a way only velvet would. The split second in which I viewed the figure before turning back around wasn’t enough to view the face. I kept walking.

The only thing I was able to focus on now was that cloak, I didn’t turn, nor did I waver my steps in my fast-paced walk to work, but the sound of the hooded person’s resolute footsteps behind me were all that filled my ears. I crossed the road, profoundly aware of that deep purple shadow in the far corner of my eye, not turning with the main road, but following me. I didn’t turn again as I fastened my pace, a wave of relief calming my thundering heart as the familiar sight of the tailor shop now came into view.

 The tailor shop stood before me, squashed between two other buildings, the suns morning glow reflecting off its dark bluestone walls. Though it was small and out of place beside the newer buildings, the mannequins and bright-coloured clothing in behind the glass window added a warmth to it, a warmth that usually sparked a lightness in my chest, memories of childhood floating into my mind. Those memories didn’t seem to appear today, all that resided was that cloak, and knowing that I had been followed.

I pulled open the wooden door, the bell sounding throughout the small shop, as I marched over to my father, the owner of this store. I placed the new fabrics on the counter, the basket on the floor before I finally looked behind me, there they were, standing in the shadow of the alley across from us, not easily noticed by those who weren’t seeking them.

“Eliza what’s wrong?” My father’s soft voice sounding behind me. I turned to see his eyebrows pulled together, concern and confusion splayed across his ageing features.

“Oh nothing, father” I mustered up as much ease as I could, displaying a sweet smile, though I knew the smile didn’t meet my eyes. I could tell my father knew I was lying, but he didn’t comment as I started placing the fabrics in their places on shelves, my eyes constantly darting back to the figure that stood there.

                                                          -

The sun now stood directly above the town as I sat outside in the small street beside the store, the warmth too inviting to eat lunch inside. The current book I was reading was clutched in my left hand as I ate the hot soup I’d cooked for father and I. The mornings event was just beginning to escape my thoughts as I looked up to find that cloaked figure standing right before me. The book I held immediately dropped to the floor, my breathing quickening with the fear that rushed through me.

“Stay back” I warned, desperately trying to hide the fear in my voice. The wooden spoon id been eating my soup with was now clutched in my hand, stretched out before me.

“Don’t be afraid” A low voice flowed from beneath the cloak, each word said with such strength but resonating a softness that crept along my skin, sending every hair standing upright.

“Who are you and why have you been following me” I willed my voice to be louder now, rolling my shoulders back and lifting my head.

“I need to talk to you” They said, immediately turning and walking out of the alley.

“Excuse me, where are you going”

“Follow me” The voice wrapped around me like silk, a feeling I never remember having, but for some reason, I felt I had known it before.

“I do apologize but how do you expect me to follow you when I don’t know you, nor do I know your appearance”

They came to a stop but made no move to turn around.

“I cannot talk to you properly here, I cannot show my face here either. You must trust me, though you don’t remember, you know who I am. Follow me… You can take the spoon if you like” They nodded towards my outstretched hand and turned again to continue walking.

I don’t know what I was thinking, the curiosity outweighed the common sense I was always taught as a child. I kept my distance as I followed behind them, smoothing out my dress as I emerged from the alley. Only minutes later did I remember to drop my arm after receiving confused looks from those walking pasts.

 I stayed silent the entire time until the cloaked person finally stopped. We now stood just at the edge of the village, the tall stone buildings lined up ahead of us, and the sound of the bustling streets quieter as it thinned through the fresh open air. We stood before a lake, trees on the boundary of the forest, lined up behind us, vibrant greens glowing off their leaves from the spring sun.

I brought my attention back to what was happening, confusion was an understatement to the feelings I had.

“Tell me why you brought me here” I allowed myself to linger on each word, almost spitting them across the grass. The velvet fabric of their cloak glimmered like the water in the lake before us as they slowly turned around, their hands cautiously making their way to the hood that hung over their face. Their hands seemed to be shaking, as they clasped the fabric. It felt like the longest few seconds I’d ever experienced, as though the boundless sound that filled the air, the sound of the trees swaying in the wind, the birds in the trees, the flowing water, all came to a stop. Until, as though waiting for a coin to finally reach the bottom of a well, they pulled off their hood.

The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes, a piercing blue as though a small piece of the sky had dropped down. I couldn’t remove my gaze. I didn’t remember ever seeing him before, but something about the eyes, the warmth hidden deep in their centre brought about a memory, a feeling I could not place. His face was young, around my own age, but the scar along his left cheek along with the way he held his gaze, told me he had seen more in his life that anyone that age should.

Dark black hair fell in short waves around his face, stark against his pale skin, his warm blue eyes. I hadn’t noticed the small smile that played at his lips, a smile only shared between friends, or something more, between those with a past.

“Am I supposed to know you?” My voice was nothing more than a whisper.

His smile slowly disappeared as he let his head drop, focusing on the grass beneath his feet.

“I Suppose not” Was all he replied with.

“Please” I didn’t try to hide the frustration that cracked my voice. “Tell me who you are, why are we here? Why are you here?”

He walked over to the stone bench built against the wall that lined the far edge of the lake, slowly sitting down, with such grace, such composure.

For a reason I didn’t know, no fear now flooded my veins as I sat down beside him, searching his face for any answers I so desperately craved.

“We know each other far more than you could imagine” He finally said. I gave no reply, waiting for more explanation.

“We met four years ago, the years you went missing.” The words struck a string beneath my ribcage. How could he possibly know such a thing?

It was true, four years ago I had gotten lost on a trip back from the north with my mother, who unfortunately never was able to return home. Her warm smiling face flashed in my mind, shock pulling all the air from my lungs. Around a year ago, one day I just awoke from what felt like an endless dream, in my own bed at home, looking up at my father and younger siblings faces, red from crying as they told me I had gone missing for 3 years. They’d expected me dead. The worst came later when they told me they found my mother first, just days after our disappearance, found her dead on the forest floor.

“How do you know this” My tone now deepened, shock evolving into anger in my stomach. “I don’t know who you are, I have never known you, how dare you bring up my mother”.

I further studied his eyes, finding them gleaming with tears, tears it seemed he desperately tried to swallow down.

“Give me your hand” That voice once again smooth like the velvet of his coat, running down my neck.

I cautiously placed my hand in the one he offered me, all the while staring into his eyes, both like water wells I came so close to falling into.

It was though a strike of lightning rushed through his hands, into my own, a distinct power rushing right through my bones, somehow a power that triggered my memory, a memory taken from me by a similar power. It all came back in a split second, a hidden compartment of my memory library flung open, pages and pages of experiences flying about in my mind.

The smell of smoke among pine and snow, the warmth of a fire tenderly dancing against my skin, and those eyes, those hands in my own, holding me. That jet-black hair curling against his smiling face as we rode by the coast together. How his skin bunched together by his eyes as he laughed, always placing a hand against his heart as he bellowed out in utter glee.

I had been so far from home, lost in a completely foreign land, but had never felt so at home, so comfortable, and so sincerely loved in those arms.

It was as though a haze had lifted from my mind, like an early spring morning, the sun melting away all fog that dwelled along the land, and his face was all I could see now, nothing clearer, the tears from his eyes finally released, rushing down his beautifully freckled skin, pooling at his lips and chin. I leant forward carefully placing my hand on the side of his face, my heart thundering in my chest, a warmth I forgot I’d ever felt, glowing in my chest, now rising to my cheeks as I slowly neared his face. His eyes darted down until I saw them flutter closed, a moment before mine until I felt his soft lips pressed tenderly against my own, and that warmth flared into heat across the rest of my body, rolling across my skin, burning through my lips until I thought we would never move from here, never part our intertwined lips, bodies, I would never open my eyes again.

“I found you” His whisper a warm breeze against my skin.

“You found me” I replied, barely a making a sound, before he pulled me in and our lips met once more.