A Nightingale's Tale

Chapter Three

“Welcome our last contenders! There is only one position left to be a part of this year’s Guardianship. Who will it be Grayson Eddard or Lydia Nightingale?!” Rex’s voice echoed throughout the arena due to a magical amplifier he dropped on his tongue between each fight. He was clearly intoxicated as he knocked over a cask of wine and sat down quickly to let the battle begin. The crowd was quieter than it had been for the previous duels, but they still gave applause. Everyone that stayed was curious to see a girl fight for the first time in the arena.

Rex was seated with the other Elder Brothers at a long table under a red canopy. Below them were a select group of Guardians judging the duel. Marcus was among them, he smiled confidently at her. The table below them, almost on the arena floor, was the newest winner's table. The day's winners were all bruised and beaten but in better shape than their fallen opponents. The brutal energy of the crowd and fighters gave a calming buzz to Lydia. Even if they didn’t think so, this was her element. She planted her right foot in the red sand and rubbed her thumb over the crystal in her palm. Her praecant, a brilliant glowing red sword, sprung from her hand. Grayson did the same but his praecant was a bluish green, probably a family color. She breathed a thankful sigh that he had a sword as well. She didn’t want any surprise praecant weapons. His sword was a little thicker than hers was. That didn’t matter, she was quick and agile, and would use that against him.

Grayson lunged first. She dropped her wrist slightly, leaving her chest vulnerable. She quickly brought up her sword as he aimed for her neck. Their blades struck. She slid her blade back against his. She twisted her wrist under his blade and went for his head. He moved out of the way just in time. He stumbled back some. He was shaken up. He had almost just lost within the first few seconds. He came running at her again. Foolish, she thought. Lydia dodged and stuck her blade to the right of his. Magical blades don’t make a sound like steel blades, it’s more of a high-pitched hum, almost like a harp string being struck. He began to thrust toward her stomach while she bent her wrist clockwise to counter his strike. She spun behind him, kicked the back of his knees, and held his neck with her blade. The fight was over. She had won. Two moves were all that it took her to bring him down. She had hoped it would only be one. The crowd gasped with hatred and disbelief. No one had expected, or wanted, her to win, especially not o quickly. She let go of Grayson’s neck and he fell to his hands. Guardians pulled him out of the arena. The empty chair at the winner's table was hers and she had barely broken a sweat.

The crowd didn’t wait for her to take her seat or receive her golden “G”. Everyone was leaving the arena grumbling to each other. Even some of the Elder Brothers left so they wouldn’t see the ceremony. Marcus ran down the stairs to her and embraced her. She felt a burning sensation on her arm. She hadn’t realized Grayson had cut her until now. Red sand mixed with blood on her skin. She pushed on the crystal with her fingers and her sword vanished.

“I told you!” Marcus yelled at her as he picked her up and spun her around.

She couldn’t hold back the laughter. She did it, she actually did it. She had tried not to let the creeping hand of doubt tarnish her only shot. All the nights she stayed awake in bed because her head was crowded with the pessimism of failure. ‘You cannot win. You aren’t as good as you think you are at this. Marcus is the only person that believes in you. If you could win others would be behind you cheering you on. You lost four years of your life to this silly dream don’t waste another moment. Quit now.’ As she laughed aloud at her victory she wondered where that pessimism was now.

“My son always had faith in you,” Rex said. He had come down from his seat at the top of the arena to congratulate the winners. He stopped at her first. He was speaking to her as if she hadn’t spent years running around his house as a child with Marcus.

“I couldn’t have won without him,” she said.

“I’m sorry most people have left. It will take them a while to get used to a woman as a Guardian and wearing pants!” He laughed heartily, “Seeing as most people have left were cutting the ceremony out this year. Here you go and congratulations,” he said handing her a golden “G” pin. Lydia held the pendant in her hand. A twinge of disappointment ran through her, she hadn’t thought much of the ceremony, but she felt as if it was something taken from her.

The other champions broke away from their eager family members congratulatory hugs and pats on the back to surround Marcus. He was pulled away from Rex and Lydia’s conversation with a thunderous applause. They all thanked him wildly, for he had helped, not only Lydia, but all of them enhance their fighting skills during practices. Marcus was the best fighter his age and a few years older. He only selected a few contenders, the ones jumping around him now, to share his secrets with. Secrets he and Lydia had learned together, but she would never hold such recognition.

“I don’t think you know this, but I knew your mother,” Rex said as they were watching Marcus’ fans crowd around him.

Lydia wasn’t surprised by this, she vaguely remembered her being around when she would play with Marcus as a child, but whenever someone brought her up, it still caught her off guard. She didn’t like being off guard, it made her feel vulnerable like she was naked in the middle of the arena.

“Oh,” was all she could mutter. She couldn’t look at him, even though his gaze was on her instead of his son.

“She was….special,” he grabbed her by her shoulder, forcing her to turn and face him, “I hope you don’t end up like her.”

Her shoulder blade tensed at his touch. His hand was warm and soft, the hand of a man that never had to do hard work. Her mother’s hands had felt the opposite but for very different reasons. Lydia moved her thumb carefully over the crystal of her praecant, mechanically. Like the saint she was, Arabella ran and hugged Lydia at the perfect moment. Her arm relaxed when his touched was torn from her.

“I’m so proud of you!” Arabella said with bubbled water at the corner of her eyes, “I knew you could do it. There were these terrible women sitting in front of me….”

Arabella was interrupted by Marcus and Gregory bumping into them. Gregory’s golden “G” shimmered over a dark patch of blood that clearly wasn’t his.

“Coming to Andy’s?” Gregory asked Lydia. Marcus winked at her. Marcus and Gregory were still locked in a manly embrace, one arm around each other’s shoulder. Lydia noticed the sweat stains on his shirt. She didn’t have the same. However, she didn’t respond. One of the contenders, now a Guardian, acknowledged her presence for the first time other than a mocking tone. She didn’t fight for her life to become friends with those that shunned her prior. The fact that Gregory not only spoke to her, but she was being pleasant and invited her out with them, was alarming.

“You were impressive out here. You beat everyone’s time,” he continued.

“I know.”

“Come on, Lyd, you and Ara, come out with us. It’s your victory night. It’s a tradition,” Marcus said playfully hitting them both on the arm. He let his fingers linger on Lydia’s arm a bit longer.

“Of course, we will,” Arabella said cheerfully, the way she always did even when she was clearly unhappy. Lydia gave her a sideways glance. Arabella elbowed her playfully.

“Lydia?” Gregory asked, wanting a response.

“I’ll meet you there,” she said to Arabella only.

“Why?” she asked.

“I have to tell... I need to go by the church,” Lydia didn’t want to say in front of Gregory, but both her friends new what she meant.

“Wait, he didn’t come?” Marcus said. He aggressively came toward her and gave her a sideways hug. She didn’t want Gregory to see her in a vulnerable state.

She pushed him off, “Did you really think he would? I won’t be long.”

“Ok. Don’t be long,” Arabella said, “Don’t run off like always.”

“I won’t,” Lydia said trying to pass off what Arabella had just said.

“I’ll be waiting,” Marcus said with a wink.

Marcus touched her arm one last time before slinging his large arm over Gregory and walking toward the gate in front of Lydia and Arabella.

“Really, congratulations and good luck,” Arabella said as they walked.

As they got closer to the entrance, a few paces behind Kyle and Gregory, Arabella gave her a hard hug when they had to go their separate ways.

The sun was starting to set behind the wall that surrounding the island, which cast long shadows against the tops of the buildings. The cuts and bruises on her arms and legs stung with the absence of care. The farther she got from the center of the island, the fewer people there were in the streets and the larger the houses got. The steeple of the only church on the island peaked over the horizon. To her, the tower was a comfort like the north star, as soon as she could see it, she knew she wasn’t far from home. The church was a dark black, a distant color from its original color, a light grey, which had been beaten with age and salt winds. The church was the only original building left on this part of town. The stone at the base matched the stone of the wall it was built into. The A-frame roof was bowing with the weight of water and debris. Roland, the keeper of the church, and her caretaker since her mother died, was supposed to maintain the old building but he would barely even go outside of the church, especially for maintenance. The wood doors had a slimy green mold from the sea air covering the front. They didn’t fit into the doorframe anymore and would blow open on a windy day. The setting sun bounced multicolored lights around the chapel from the stained-glass windows. There were twelve windows which represented six gods and six goddesses that their coven worshiped. No one was in the church, thankfully, she didn’t feel like dealing with people right now. Lydia heard hushed mumbling from the back pews of the chapel. There, she found Roland asleep on a pew with a recently emptied bottle still clutched in his hand.

“Roland,” she said as she kicked at him.

He jumped abruptly and dropped the bottle, it echoed as it rolled across the stone floor. He sat forward with one hand pressed to his forehead.

“Go to bed before someone sees you,” she said.

“Ugh, what time is it?” he said propping his head on his hands.

“It’s getting late.”

“The tournament?” he said looking at the sand crusted blood on her arm.

“I won.”

He looked down as if to hide his disappointment. His arms hoisted his torso from the bench like he weighed twice as much as normal. He stumbled slightly when his feet touched the ground but steadied himself against the wooden pew. She instinctively shook her head. He stood in the aisle, trying to steady himself in front of her as if he had a moment of dignity left. She pushed past him and walked to the kitchen. The “kitchen”, as if it could be called such, was a small forgotten room in the church, with a table and stove that was as scarcely used as the responses to the prayers that came from the church. The living quarters were behind the chapel, there was one small bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, a few smaller spare rooms used for Roland’s “rituals”, and the tower in which Lydia lived at the very top. It had been the original lookout that was built into the wall, but it was replaced later with lookout posts that sat on top of the wall. Her tower was the only building that could see over the wall inside the city.

Roland walked into the kitchen behind her and ran into the wall. He walked like a child pretending they could hold themselves up but instead stumble into the nearest steady item.

“Lydia, are you proud of yourself?” he slurred, “I just don’t see why you couldn’t have chosen another path. You’re so good with healing and you know the church better than anyone.”

“The church is tiny. If you throw a rock from one end it will hit the other, of course I know the church well, everyone does. And unlike you, I’m not dying here,” she said with spite in her words. She grabbed a towel from the cabinet. She sniffed it to see if it was clean. It smelled like everything else in the church, dust. It probably hadn’t been washed but she didn’t care at this point. She put the rag into a bowl of warm water on the counter. She winced as she cleaned the wound with the damp towel then added a potion to clean the wound.

“Here let me help,” he said as he swayed towards her.

“I can do it. You should go to bed before anyone sees you like this.”

She shook her head in disappointment, again, as he steadied himself against the sink. She couldn’t imagine him as one of the greatest Guardians ever spoken of. When she was younger she heard stories about the “amazing feats” Roland had accomplished. That mythological fighter had been the first, and the best person to teach her how to fight, and yet now, he was solely a drunk, whom no one told those stories about anymore. He was removed from the council years ago, but given the position of “keeper of the church” so a famous Guardian wouldn’t be known as the homeless drunk looming outside of the bars.

“It’s beneath you,” he spat.

She c****d her head in disbelief toward his statement.

He saw her response and rebutted, “I’ve taught you everything about this damned church, this is what is left for you.” He motioned around the room as if she should be thankful.

When she originally signed on, Roland took the news of her joining the training to be a Guardian, worse than she had expected. He had always loved spending the evenings in the yard teaching her his signature moves. As soon as she came home telling him what she had done, he lashed out. He drank more and slept less. He refused to teach her anything further, so Marcus stepped in and took over. He never gave her a good reason for his detest in her training to be a Guardian.

After she cleaned and bandaged her wound she went up to her room in the tower, at the top of the spiraling stairs, and changed from her sandy, ripped clothes to put on something more appropriate. She put on a long sleeve brown shirt and a brown skirt that swept over the tops of her toes. She didn’t want to give anyone anymore to talk about, so she followed the clothing rules. Roland was sitting at the table in the kitchen, with his head in his hands, when she returned downstairs. Lydia didn’t say a word and headed for the front doors. She heard him yell out her name, but she didn’t stop.

Out in the streets, the sun had gone down completely so the only light she had were from the lanterns that hung from homes. The sounds of her shoes echoed against the wall, making it seem as if someone were a few feet behind her. The northern part of the island was empty and silent at that time of night. The respectable families were safely in their homes. All the houses were still and eerie and were exact copies of each other. They were all equally separated, the same height, and varying shades of white. The stone church was the only thing that broke up the monotony. She looked up to her tower and saw the flickering of the fire she had left. Her room was almost double the height of the houses below.

She began to see a few people the farther she got to the inner of the island. People were perched outside of shops, playing games, and celebrating wins from earlier. She passed a small group of Guardians, their “G’s” displayed proudly, questioning a man about a bottle he had hidden behind his back. She walked down a narrow alley that led to a central empty space known as The Square. Andy’s was a house with a pub on the bottom floor directly in the center.

“Lydia,” Arabella called from across the square.

She was leaning halfway out a door from one of the surrounding buildings with two men. Her dress came to her knees and blew around her in the wind. She looked like a daughter of autumn with her fair skin and wild red hair. Lydia hurried past the group of men and into to building with Arabella. Inside was much louder than the outside led one to believe. Music played from the corner of the room and people huddled around in the cramped space dancing and conversing. Arabella led Lydia to a bar made from an overturned door placed on wooden barrels.

“Allotment is five cups tonight,” the busty woman, Andy’s wife Carol, said behind the makeshift bar.

“Five! Tonight’s going to be a good night,” Arabella said.

Arabella sat down a gold coin and Lydia did the same. Carol looked at Lydia with a indirect glance and only took Arabella’s.

“Rules, you won so you don’t have to pay tonight,” she said sliding the coin back toward Lydia. She didn’t seem pleased by this but handed Arabella two cups of frothy, strong smelling liquor. Lydia smelled the cup and her stomach turned. She had been avoiding coming to the pubs because it interfered with her training. Arabella, however, was no stranger to this late-night lifestyle. Lydia couldn’t blame her, she dealt with a lot working on sick or injured people all day. Lydia forced a smile to Arabella and took a sip. They went to an atrium at the center of the building, it was quieter there.

“You took him out so quickly, I couldn’t believe it,” Arabella said.

“Thank you,” Lydia answered while taking a sip of her liquor. The more she drank it, the more it tasted less like poison and more like apples.

“I guess you’re officially one of them,” Arabella said nodding her head toward a group of boisterous Guardians celebrating in the corner. The boys laughed and spilled liquor on the floor.

“I still can’t believe you choose to do this,” Arabella said.

“I’ll get to leave the island.”

“Why are you so worried about leaving the island? You don’t even know what’s over the wall. It could be just as bad, or worse, than here or the other realm.”

“I really doubt that, but also, I’m the first woman Guardian. I’ll always have that.”

A group of girls passed by them on the way to refill their drinks at the bar, they stared at Lydia with utter disgust. Their dresses were much shorter than regulated, up past their knees. Rules were broken in places like this.

Arabella’s cup was empty, and she persuaded Lydia to finish hers, so they could get refills. Arabella had always been able to get Lydia to do what she wanted. They had been friends longer than either of them could remember. Their mothers had been close and gave birth only a few months apart and raised them as if they were sisters.

“How’s your mother?” Lydia asked when a fresh cup was in her hand. She felt guilty for not going to see Arabella’s mother since she had been moved to an elderly care house at the south wall.

“I went and saw her yesterday. She thought I was helping her escape from the other realm to this one. I had to explain to her over and over we were already here.”

Arabella drank the whole cup at once. Her throat quivered, and she continued, “I get to see her when I want so that’s good.”

Lydia thought back to the time she lived with Arabella, and her mother Lou, after her own mother died, and the nights they had stayed up late acting out stories her mother read to them. Lou was the most enthusiastic, and dramatic, when to it came to acting out the scenes of the books. She would do their makeup and wardrobe. She spent hours creating props in the small living room to make it seem all the more real. It was the distraction Lydia desperately needed to keep her mind off her mother’s death at the time. However, due to the strict housing laws and the number of people allowed to live in one home, Lydia had to go live with Roland in the church. Depending on rank, dictated how many people could live in one house. Since Arabella’s mother wasn’t creating a trade or service, plus her illness, she could only have one other living with her.

“Look,” Arabella said pointing to a small, smiling girl, younger than Lydia and Arabella, being followed closely by a boy. The girl backed into a corner and began passionately kissing the boy. They both forgot about the cups in their hands or the other people in the world. A red ribbon untwisted in her hair in synchronization with her face moving with his.

“An Elder brother picked her out the other day,” Arabella said.

“Who?”

“Thomas.”

Lydia’s words were clutched in her throat with worry. Elder Brother Thomas was one of the worse Elders. He was cruel to his, already six, wives. She thought of the terrible repercussions the girl would undergo if someone found her here, not to mention kissing a boy, after she had been chosen to be his next bride.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Lydia finally spoke.

“Please, those two have loved each other since they were kids. Her names Emily she’s only fourteen. She and her mother missed our session of church and had to make it up. That’s when Elder Thomas saw her and decided she would be his next wife. I mean, he already has six wives and they have way more money than Emily does. Her family was so upset but there’s nothing they can do.”

“That’s terrible,” Lydia said. She wasn’t sure what she could say. She felt sorry for the girl but now she was as good as betrothed, and she should be honoring it. She looked at the girl’s feet, they were bare. If Elder Brother Thomas had given her shoes, she was refusing to wear them. Lydia sipped on her drink and watched the two as they melted into each other, away from the world. Emily smiled as the boy kissed her forehead as if they hadn’t run out of time.

“Another round?” Arabella said taking the cup from Lydia.

Arabella disappeared into the crowd leaving Lydia alone. She wasn’t alone for long. Marcus and the drunken group of Guardians came quickly to sit with her.

“Let’s get another round in honor of the first girl Guardian!” Gregory yelled then hiccupped.

“How much has he had to drink?” Lydia asked Kyle.

“About seven I think,” he slurred.

“Seven? The allotment is five.”

“You’re a Guardian now, we don’t have allotments.”

“Where’s that pretty redhead friend of yours?” Gregory asked.

“Ara?” Marcus laughed loudly. Marcus and Arabella had always teased one another like siblings.

The three of them, Lydia, Arabella, and Marcus, had been close throughout their lives. Marcus and Lydia had been close as children because of Roland’s former position among the Elder Brothers. They would play in the Great Hall when Roland was called. While heated debates broke out among the grumpy men, Marcus and Lydia would spar in the ballroom or play hide and seek throughout the endless hallways. Lydia introduced Marcus to Arabella, after her mother passed, and the three of them were inseparable during their years in class. Lydia thought back to the pranks the three of them would pull on Mr. Chesterton, their Nature Spirits teacher, it had taken him hours dissipating the thousands of lilies they had conjured in his classroom. Since they graduated from youth classes, four years prior, they hadn’t spent as much time together, with Lydia and Marcus in Guardian training and Arabella becoming a Healer.

Arabella rounded the corner with two full cups in hand. She looked displeased to see their party had grown. Gregory moved out of his seat to let her sit down. He pushed a smaller boy out of his chair to sit next to her.

“So, Ara, did you watch the tournament?” Gregory asked leaning toward her.

“It’s Arabella, and of course, I was cheering my best friend on, couldn’t you hear me?” Arabella said.

“Everyone could hear you,” Lydia laughed, “We go every year together. Last year we went and cheered for Marcus.”

He nodded and tilted his glass towards them.

“Do you like the tournaments?” Gregory asked Arabella.

“No, I think they’re outdated, making everyone fight each other. I read that they used to only be fights to the death…”

“How dare you!” a girl screamed from behind Lydia. They all turned to see who had interrupted Arabella. The girl was scowling at Lydia. Her shoulders were scrunched near her ears and the glass in her hand shook so much she repeatedly spilled drops on the floor. Her black hair was damp against her forward with sweat. Even though Lydia had never seen her before, she knew exactly who she was. A relative of Grayson, probably his sister judging by her youth.

“You ruined his life. He won’t be able to find work now and forget about a decent wife! You could have done anything, ANYTHING ELSE! You could have just gotten married like you’re supposed to but instead, you had to ruin my brother’s life, so you could what? Wear pants? They should have had you reformed not let you compete!”

Lydia was immediately reminded of the years of her sitting in a classroom as a young girl, while one of the Elder Brothers taught them the importance of roles, men’s roles, women’s roles, children’s roles, old men and old women’s roles. Everyone had their place, everyone. Lydia’s mother’s voice was still fresh in her mind, “Don’t listen to them. Rules are only there until they are no longer valid, only then can everything change. Do what you want, not what they say to do.” Lydia hated those classes. She didn’t want to learn about her “roles” as a young woman or the hierarchy they placed on all of them, simply from birth s*x and rank. She especially hated the hierarchy they placed on non-magician creatures still in the other realm. Elder Samuel had once said, “That is why we are here, and they are not. Creatures of lesser value have no place in our society. We have lived with the same families for generations and they will never stop that. That is why they hunted us down, that is why we had to move here, away from our true home. Because we are superior, and they know it! But they can’t stop the unstoppable. You all are products of our special selection, years of it. You are to rule both world’s one day and put all those beneath us back in their place!” Lydia remembered that lesson vividly. She had told her mother about the day's lesson when she went home for the evening. After that, her mother had locked herself in her room for three days. The lessons the Elder Brothers tried to teach her backfired, at least with Lydia, they didn’t make her think of herself as superior, only more interested in other creatures.

“Excuse me,” Arabella started to intercept and sat forward in her chair, bringing Lydia back to the present.

Marcus interrupted, “Your brother lost fairly. I suggest you keep your comments to yourself. As it seems you’ve forgotten who you’re speaking to.” He was placing himself between Lydia and Grayson’s sister. In moments like this, he reminded her so much of his father it worried her. The group of Guardians silently watched and waited for their command to take her in. Grayson’s sister swallowed her pride, and with tears in her eyes, stormed out of Andy’s, practically throwing her cup at the bar.

The men laughed and mocked Grayson’s sister as they were brought another round of drinks. Guilt filled Lydia’s throat which made it difficult for her to keep drinking the harsh liquor. She had worked so hard for this day, but she really could have done anything else and her life would have been fine, unfulfilled but fine. Had she ruined this boy's life for her own happiness? She tuned out of everyone's conversation and tried to clear her head. Lydia was in a different place entirely. Her mind wandered to a better place, a window with white curtains and a view of the forest. The smell of leather bound books, the sound of the tea kettle, and his hand embracing her lower back. Arabella’s hand on her knee brought her back to the cramped room and the smell of fermented apples.

“I’m going to go,” Lydia said suddenly yearning for that secret sanctuary.

“What already? You never stay out anymore,” Arabella said.

“Today’s been a pretty long day. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lydia said already standing from the table.

“Come on, you always say you can’t go out because of training. Now, your training is over and you’re still saying you’re leaving early?”

“I just don’t feel like celebrating.”

“Don’t let that girl bother you. you earned this.”

“Really, Ara. I need some sleep.”

“Fine,” she said with her arms crossed. She leaned back into the chair and gave her friend a scowl. Lydia started to inch away from the table, hoping no one would notice enough to stop her.

Marcus grabbed her hand before she could leave, “Where are you going?”

“Roland wasn’t doing so well when I went home. I should make sure he’s sobered up some.”

She had gotten very good with her alibis and lies over these past months.

He looked at her skeptically, “Want me to come?”

“No, I would rather deal with him on my own.”

“Lyd, don’t let that old drunk ruin your night.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?

“Fine, I’ll be waiting for you at the front door.”

“Fine,” she said with a smile. She could see his lips purse and he paused as if he was waiting for her to give him the go ahead. She didn’t, and turned toward the door.

She hurried out of the building before anyone else could stop her. The summer heat was steaming of the stone roads with the introduction of the cool night breezes coming off the ocean. She couldn’t get the look of Grayson’s sister's eyes out her head, pure betrayal. In truth, Grayson’s sister was right. She could have done something else, been content with the life she would have had. She would have been Marcus’ first wife, have children, be comfortable, stay at home with the children as Kyle worked toward becoming Rex when his father passed away, get older, Marcus would marry a much younger woman when he grew tired of her, they would have kids, he may even take a third wife, they would raise their children in the same house and then she would die. Her reasoning behind why she wanted to be a Guardian was dishonest. She didn’t care about the safety of Covet, she wanted to leave the island legally. She took the opportunity from someone who wanted it for the right reasons. Now, Grayson would be lucky to get any job or even survive very long. Lydia took her shoes off to walk on the sandy, stone path. She liked feeling the sand on her feet, and the pain of the gravel eased her guilty thoughts. She knew what she should do that night, take care of Roland, but that was not what she was going to do. She knew since she had dreamt of him the night before she would have to see him tonight. She needed to see him tonight. Feel his touch against her body and be enveloped in his sweet smell of black tea and charcoal. It was risky to see him again so soon, but she didn’t care the risk was a part of her desire for him.