Isabella Foster
I like a look of agony
because I know it's true
M
y family has no idea where I am right now, they know of my archery, but they think less of it as just a hobby of mine instead of passion. The same with my mapping, it is just another class, another thing to keep me busy. They know so little about me without the last name hanging off the end of it. I want to ask them why we are all strangers that share the same last name. Maybe, if we were immediately open with our families we would laugh about what we have in common. The complications of growing up not just rich, but an ingrained part of our respected Court’s history. I would tell her about my brothers and she would tell me about hers. We could talk about it all.
But I am so tired of talking about my family.
A sharp inhale when she looks at me, and I compose myself again. A gift from my family staying cool, staying polite under pressure. Painstakingly polite. “I have to be back for my afternoon classes, but I can spare a moment.” I say with something like a flip of my shoulder. Busy, but not too busy. I look to the sun. I did have to be back, my father did take our lessons so seriously. The Fosters in the class set the example for the other a students. A late Foster cannot happen, a late Foster cannot exist. But, I know that I am not quite done with this woman yet. I find solace in being with her, she doesn't know who I am. How refreshing.
I watch as she waves someone off, I hadn't noticed them before. “Your friends?” I ask her, steel grey eyes flittering to them before back to her face. Those eyes, it reminds me of something. Then they are gone, disappeared practically into thin air.
“Well then, since it is just the two of us,” I say, fighting the excitement that grows. There was a time back when I was a fidgety child, sitting in the church, we were supposed to be praying. ‘Isabella,’ my mother had scolded me. ‘A Foster does not wiggle, we are astute, attentive. Wiggling suggests you are bored, are you bored of our Goddess, who By Her Hand, has blessed us?’ She said, looking at me with vivid green eyes. They looked like a forest that could swallow me whole.
I stand taller instead, pinch my shoulders together, and relax my head at a proper height and sink into my last name with a practiced grace. It feels natural once more.
She is looking at me. I sometimes have imagined what it would be like to be born with the gift of mind reading. What would this woman, Hagar, be thinking about me. Would she think me pretty? Would she think me as mysterious as I find her?
“Oh,” I say in mock surprise, strangely grateful for some attention on me. I am so used to being overshadowed, not the I actively sought our glory. But with her golden eyes on me, her voice pointed to my ear, I wont deny the feeling is—pleasant. “They are just drawings,” I say, shrugging as if it doesn't matter. They are good drawings, I know they are, even if they are just doodles. I oblige her and open them up for a moment. “A new bow and new arrows. I was going to see the merchant who makes them for me.” My eyes wander only a moment in the direction where Hugo’s tent would be if I set off. “But, he can wait.” I say and walk beside her.
It feels almost as though she is leading me, rather than I leading her. “I’m Isabella,” I say without a smile. Even in her presence I hardly smile. It had resulted in many scoldings as a child, until my parents finally threw their hands in defeat. I turn grey eyes to the side. “Here we are, anything you are looking for in particular?” I ask her, looking from her eyes to the curve of her neck before I fall back over to the jewelry. I pretend to look, to window shop, but I steal glances back at her, wondering if she might be stealing glances herself—at me.
picture colored by Elidhu
@
