the loneliest girl in town
The proprietor calls out a greeting from behind the bar as a russet haired cowboy with white boots and a careless smile enters. A player piano clicks moodily into a jangled melody in the far corner, dimly lit by the late-afternoon sun.
The Reverend Daughter barely flinches when the newcomer joins her, taking a seat on the worn piano bench. Tavern-dusted nightblack lace veils her from the cowboy's piercing gaze. The cowboy is far too close, suddenly, but this too is something she has grown used to, after Ortus, and she doesn't react, just freezes.
"Harrow!" the cowboy hisses urgently "Look at me, please look at me, you have to wake up!"
The Reverend Daughter raises her veil, taking in the pleading face and bright features of the person in front of her.
"You don't look like anyone to me."
She doesn't understand why there's heartbreak in those golden eyes.
--
Harrowhark the First screams.
Harrowhark the First begs a God that she knows exists but that she does not believe in for mercy, for redemption, for the life of her cavalier.
Harrowhark the First laughs, hysteria echoing hollowly through her tattered faith.
--
Harrow CANNOT wake up.
--
Pale blonde hair. A golden skeletal hand caressing her face. Mocking laughter when she recoils. A bedroom. Uncertainty, later, whether the blood that covers her is solely her own.
--
The Reverend Daughter's bone rings click quietly on the keys, ghosting over the player piano, always the same simple, repetitive, mournful song. A single tear drips onto the faded sheet of music. She cannot remember why.
--
"Oh Harry, really, if you're just going to lie there and snivel, I don't know why I'd even bother. Where's the sport if you're already crying before we've even begun?"
--
Once, downstairs on a moonless night, the Reverend Daughter startles Mercymorn, who drops her half-drunk bottle of top-shelf whiskey and slashes her across the cheek with the broken glass. She doesn't apologize, Mercy never does, but the pink lipstick-press of a tearful kiss lingers on the Reverend Daughter's forehead.
--
"Just let me hold you, tonight."
The cowboy comes back, sometimes, and those evenings are a rare kindness. The Reverend Daughter is too afraid to ask why, in case she stops. But she always dreads the mornings.
"Harrow, please look at me. Please, tell me you know who I am."
"You don't look like anyone to me."
The Reverend Daughter's nose bleeds.