midsummer âźÂ self
Around him, Noreâs beating heart was aflutter. Rich women in impressive skirts twirled to with the citterns and flutesongs and the thud of drums and the men danced either like foxes or bears or just huddled uncomfortably off to the side. Looking around or watching hopelessly or tapping their feet in the glow of the nearest bonfire. Someone marched over and dumped a bundle of wood into the blaze and Dorian watched as it spat sparks into the grey air above. Dante had sent him off to socialise, but he would much rather watch the festivities than participate â so that was what he did. He took a hand out of his pocket and ran a knuckle along the top of the fence and the snow fell softly to the ground below. He put his hand back into his pocket and looked up and sighed. Then he started walking.
Dorian payed a few marks for some slices of smoked meat and stood watching hungrily as the vendor stuffed them into a bun cut longways. Then Dorian took it and thanked the man and set off through the bootmarked snow and toward a small fire before which he sat on a long bench fashioned from what had once been a fallen tree. He held the bread in his hands savouring the smell and the new orange warmth of the fire behind him. Then he sat there eating and watching the citizens in their revelry, mentally charting the movements of the dancers. Heâd half finished his meal when a young woman led a similarly young man to sit perhaps a metre down the bench. There, they began to exchange endearments and giggles. There is an awful lot of unnecessary physical contact occuring here, Dorian thought, and shifted. Then he turned his attention inward and considered what work was to be done come morning. He sat there considering for a long time. Chewing absently on his roll and then finishing it and then eventually deciding he was still hungry. Then he stopped considering and hesitated, glancing around, before getting up and wandering over to a stall selling pastries.
The vendor took his money then told him that the type of pastry he wanted had run out a moment earlier but her assistant was on his way with a fresh batch as she spoke. Dorian considered asking for a different sort or for his money back but as if on cue the boy appeared with two deep baskets, almost overflowing if not for the cloth tied over them. So Dorian accepted his pastry and made his way back to the seat, only to find that a girl had seized the spot in his absence. The couple had evidently stumbled away to continue their public displays of affection elsewhere, however. So he looked at the girl then looked at the empty space then looked back at her and half smiled at her then sat himself down perhaps a foot away.
He used to eat so slowly and in such small bites that he could make any amount of food, however tiny the portion, fill his belly. And perhaps it was to do with how anxiously his build had been hurrying upward of late, or the hair that was growing under his arms...but he found himself hungrier, and more often than before. It wasnât sustainable, he decided. He hoped that this would pass quickly: it took more coin to keep him alive than ever and he wanted to be as small a burden as humanly possible. Dorian took a bite. A little gravy oozed over the crust and onto his thumb so he licked it and then sat there thinking. Theyâd even had to buy new clothes. Dante assured him that itâd stop soon enough and that he wouldnât need anything new for a good while afterward â but it was only with a frown that Dorian could accept those words, nevermind the clothes. Oh well. Business was certainly still profitable. His jewellery was selling as well as ever, and though often too pricy for the common folk, masks were popular and popular gifts for nineteenth namedays and would continue to be. It was with some concern, however, he noted, that once the winter ticked into its twentieth year there would be a drop in the number of nineteenths to be celebrated. Corresponding, of course, to the drop in birthrate. He thought, then, of the inevitable aging of Noreâs populationâŚ
âUm â excuse me? Are-are you alright?â Dorian started and looked to the girl. âI beg your pardon?â âSorry, you wereâŚâ âHm? Oh,â Dorian stammered. âI just ââ âIt was as if you wereâŚsomeplace else,â she said. He watched her face wide-eyed and decided she looked to be some peculiar mix of concerned and embarrassed. He furrowed his brows. âThatâs â yes, I suppose, I was ââ âDeep in thought, perhaps,â she offered. Her hands were clasped on her lap. She had mittens knitted from deep blue wool. The rest of her clothing, however, though neat was drab. Dorian managed some excuse for a smile. âDeep in thought,â he repeated. He looked down at his still-steaming pastry. Then looked back at her. âYes. I was just â considering the decline in birth-rate since the winter began.â The girl raised her eyebrows and frowned and gave a single slow nod. âIâŚI suppose that...makes sense.â He pursed his lips. Of course it made sense. And he was about to tell her exactly why when she continued: âYou looked a bit concerned.â She gestured vaguely into the air. âAndâŚnow I see why.â She smiled and she laughed and he laughed too out of propriety but he didnât understand how an ageing population could possibly be funny.
Eventually the number of people physically able to work and therefore provide the goods and services Nore depended on would begin to dwindle and the increased risk of death during childbirth or infant death due to extreme cold or malnutrition especially in lower class families that mightnât be able to afford adequate food for the mother or child â
The girl looked away for a while and watched the fire over her shoulder. Its crackling drifting off to mingle with the sounds of footsteps or laughter or music. Meanwhile Dorian finished his pastry and brushed his hands together over the snow and then made to also watch the fire over his shoulder. As he turned to do so he noticed a silk flower with its stem tucked into the girlâs braid â he looked at it. He thought of the rose back home sitting on his desk. The rose sitting on his desk and not pinned into the inside of his jacket because he worried about crumpling it. Soon she had noticed that he had noticed it then he averted his eyes but it was too late. âOh, itâs pretty, isnât it? I got it fromââ âLady Frell.â âYes! Do you know her?â Dorian tilted his head. Of course he knew her. âI know of her,â he said nonchalantly. âOh, that wonât do. You absolutely must find her shop; her flowers are justâŚâ She seemed to search for the word, but he didnât care how that sentence was to end. A mittened hand was resting on his upper arm and he was looking blankly down at it. âWell theyâre very pretty,â he said. He knitted his fingers together and extended his arms forward, arching his back as if he genuinely needed to stretch. Which he didn't. But her hand slid away, as intended. He made a âhmâ and smiled thinly then crossed his arms and stared intently at the fire.
Soon enough the girl saw some friend and scurried away. Dorian watched her leave.
He had to guess sheâd be almost nineteen.
