A Confabulated Compendium of Anecdotes TEASER
THE CLOCKWORK BRIDE
Nephele sang a sweet, pure melody as she made her way along the dark forest floor.
“Da da da daaa,” she repeated merrily, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead. Dragging the heavy black bag over twigs, crispy leaves, and dank soil was tiresome, and her enthusiasm was beginning to wane.
“Da da da daaa,” she repeated, this time with a harsher tone as she heaved the body bag over a protruding tree root.
Losing her grip, she stumbled backwards and growled, “Aaah!” Exasperated and steadying her balance, she took a deep breath and looked at the six-foot-long bag.
“Goodness me, Jonathan, why did you have to be such a big man,” she said in vexation as she swiped at the stray blonde strands sticking to her sweaty face. Placing her hands on her hips as if expecting an answer, she waited and, when the stillness of the forest answered with a small breeze, she reached for the handle and tugged the lumpy bag over the root.
The stars of the night shone brightly, and the moon seemed to hang above the giant ancient trees like a massive light globe, and for that she was grateful.
Trees reached like towers into the heavens as she continued through the forest which reeked with age, and the smell of compost hung in the air like a miasma.
She recognised that smell. It reminded her of another time she had entered a forest far from here. It hadn’t been so taxing on her petite body then, and the weather more welcoming.
Ahead, huge roots spread-eagled in front of her, twisting like fat, dark-grey snakes, and she dropped the body bag in frustration.
Cursing Jonathan under her breath, she sat with her back against the trunk. Nephele brought her knees up to her chest. Not very lady-like, she knew, but there was nobody around except Johnathon, and what could he do?
Grabbing a handful of her skirt she pulled it high above her knees and hung her head against the tree trunk. She closed her eyes. A shuffling noise disturbed her rest and as she peered out from half-closed eyes she spied a small squirrel. It scampered to the top of the bag. She watched, her eyes never leaving the creature, as she reached into her skirt pocket. She gripped the knife. Faster than lightning it exited her pocket and left her delicate fingers.
A stunned squeak sounded as the knife met its target, followed by the soft thud of the critter falling to the forest floor. Stretching slowly, she stood up and bent sideways, smiling. Her dress fluttered down her long legs to her ankle boots.
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