The weeping stitched the edges of my consciousness with sorrow-spun thread. As always, it vanished when I turned to face the tapestry-hung wall, and returned when I looked away. Today I couldn’t bear the melancholy it stirred and I gripped the closest tapestry and let its dust envelop me, each speck a lazy gold spiral in the sunlight pressing through the window across the hall. The sobs cut off abruptly and I froze, staring at the fabric in my hands. Its seaside picnic scene was shifting, swirling, the stitches pulling me tight before I could breathe. Tense thread flattened me and I spread and shrank at once, my view changing. I was looking out the window now.
A girl in a pinstriped dress gazed at me, her curls alight in the sun. I knew her—the one opening the basket in the picnic scene. “So sorry,” she said. Her voice trembled, but I recognized it. It was her sobs that had haunted me this past year.
I strained against the threads, pried open my mouth to call after her, but she was already skipping down the hall.
The darkness of the tapestry pressed against me, and I began to weep.
Like what you read? Follow @sheriyutzyauthor and @embarnettauthor and #flashfictionmagic on Instagram for great stories and writing prompts every Friday!
Looking for more Jennette & Makam? Desperate to know what happens on Riven? Don’t worry, I’m taking a plotting break this week and hope to be back with another thrilling episode next week. 😉
