Men and women frolicked and drank, they swayed and danced to a tune delicately finding its way from a harp to the ears and feet of all those in the clearing. All cups were full and sloshing, a deep violet wine that stained the grass and the white cloth which shrouded the figures faces but left their gleaming torsos bare.
But Lisa wasn't sure they were men and women, not exactly, their tanned skin gleamed in a way she found unnerving and alluring, and the shape and flexibility of their limbs and torsos was ever so slightly off, like a funhouse mirror, the reflection warping them. And how had she not heard the music, she had approached slowly and while the tinkling of the harp was soft, it was intoxicating; and where was the snow.
One of the revelers noticed her and pulled her over, into a dance, grabbing her by the hand and leading her through steps. Lisa found herself following nervously and the laughing as she lost herself to the movement. Her legs gave out from underneath her, with joy and happiness. A crashing laughter that left her breathless, when had she last laughed this hard, closed her eyes and sent out slow crawling tears.
A woman was with her then, a braid of gray hair and a hint of breast the only indication of her person, the cloth over her face was sheer, and yet the features of the visitor were vague. The woman cradled Lisa's head in her lap and stroked her hair as the laugh died into giggles and resurrected themselves as a contended smiling silence. She wondered when she last had been held like this, her mother had always been so cold.
"You seem so happy to be here," said the woman, her accent thick and unrecognizable, but welcoming and soft, "you were lost."
It wasn't a question, and yet Lisa nodded her head and then turned to hide her eyes in the woman's skirt. Why had she ever come here in the first place, she couldn't remember, and yet she was so happy she had come. Parties usually meant getting felt up, getting into fights, and running before the cops dragged you away. But this was perfect, this was calming and fun, and look how calm she was and how sweet this old woman.
"You don't have to ever return, you can stay here with us, and revel and rest," and Lisa considered the offer and found it perfect.
"What do I have to do?" Lisa asked.
The woman gestured and a silver cup of violet wine appeared in her hand, she propped Lisa up on her knee and put the cup to her lips, the sweet smell almost masking the scent of strong alcohol.
"I can't drink this," admitted Lisa, indignation rising in her voice, memories coming back to her again of running away from her mother, of the argument and the slamming doors, and the life growing inside her.
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