Enigmatic Sorrow



Scene Title Enigmatic Sorrow
Synopsis When Delia stows herself away, someone else comes out to play.
Date January 7, 2011


In her mind, she’s a puppy.

Something small and cute and roly poly, above all else, wanted. Tiny marbled nose poking into places it doesn’t belong. Jade eyes peering quizzically at everything just before a long tongue reaches out for a taste. Feet that are a little too large for her body loping through the grass and bouncing at leaves. Leaves wanting a rake; colored orange, yellow, red, and brown, crinkly underneath four paws. It’s not too hot, it’s not too cold. Like the three bears, this is just right.

She fills people’s hearts with joy and laughter with her antics. In her dreams, there’s always the laughter of children wherever she goes. And treats. Lots of treats.

Her tail wags merrily at the laughter and joy, a curled extension of herself, like a nightcrawler along the beautiful leafy ground. Her tongue hangs from her mouth and her lips curl almost like she’s smiling. This place yields more joy than a puppy could hope for. More hope than any animal could want. This place, in her mind, keeps her young, loved, and always wanted. People always want puppies.

The give of grassy earth underneath her paws absorbs the rhythm of every bouncing step, a bounding delight full of promise, nearly weightless without the restriction or pain of aged muscles.


The elongated call of the puppy’s name, sounded out from a child perhaps the age of six or seven. A child with springy red hair, swinging from a doorknob that’s attached to a door that appeared out of nowhere. Her bright smile is tainted with bright red lipstick smeared from her teeth, she’s wearing a white sundress that’s got little spots of makeup on it. Blues and reds and purples, dot the crisp white down the bib, sullying the bleached cotton. No matter, no one minds.


Another swing on the doorknob as she calls, she doesn’t step over the threshold to fetch the puppy herself. “C’mon Cheza! It’s time for tea! Mister Peacock and me are waiting!” The little girl lets go and lands on her rear on the carpeted floor beyond the frame of the door out of nowhere. No one else seems to see it, only the puppy.

That name, her name, perks the half-wolf’s attention. Her ears escalate to the sky and her head turns in the direction of the door. Her mouth hangs open excitedly as she bounds through the grass towards that little lark— the girl who gives her feelings of warmth and delight deep within the pit of her stomach.

She stands on her hind legs as she approaches the little redhead, intent on receiving some gratification for her presumed obedience. Of course, the gratification is irrelevant when tea with Mister Peacock is in question. Cheza drops to her front paws and looks up at the little girl, the puppy is the apple of the redhead’s eye. The strong smell of lavender laced with mint wafts from the little girl’s hair with every twist of her head and bounce of her tight curls, a soothing combination.

Cheza essentially skips onto the carpeted floor, the smell of the room warm with the scent of cinnamon, apples, and bacon— the kind of smells that a dog would bathe in if it could— along with that already present scent of mint and lavender. While these might not be considered a good combination by human standards, in this world, in this place, the dance of smells is nothing more than an immersion of the senses. Delightful with every sniff. Each smell distinct in its own right.

There’s a merry cadence to her step as she pants with delight traipsing after Delia. Her nose lifts brightly into the air, an extension of her regal ancestry and her evident rapture with the mixture of aromas. The warmth of the room increases as a cozy fire shrouded in a fireplace dances in licks of light along the edges of the walls, giving both physical and emotional warmth to the room.

The little table is set with large porcelain cups and saucers six places for six guests. All of the guests have a flowery hat on all except the puppy. “Cheza, here’s your hat! You have to have a hat, Queen Mary demands it for tea.” The squeaky voice is quite serious as she gives instruction and places the floppy sunbonnet over the half-wolf’s fuzzy head, giving her a little kiss on the marble tip of her nose and twisting her head to receive a lick in return.

It’s all warmth and giggles here; tea, sunshine, drawings, play and fun, make up the day. Except in the shade of the large bed looming against one wall. A form much larger than the little girl’s lays there, motionless, covered by blankets and tucked out of mind even if not out of sight.

Following the puppy’s gaze, the little girl frowns slightly and shakes her head. “She’s never getting up again…” the sunlight dims as the mournful tone takes over her voice. “She kanolad someone she cares about… or started to care about… now she’s never getting up again.” The little girl points to the walls, pictures of a brown haired stick giant and a black haired stick man with bright blue eyes cover the walls. Every surface of the room is papered with a drawing of one or the other, they are never together.

Cheza’s chin lifts in the air as the bonnet is adjusted atop her head, resulting in a warm lick from a wet tongue upon the girl’s face. She tilts her head quizzically at the little girl as her blue hued eyes peek about the pictures and the figure laying upon the bed. Her eyes close, and with a deep huff of air, she sighs nearly irritably. Her legs twitch and she peeks about at the other tea guests. There’s a reluctant heaviness in her gaze, the notion of someone never leaving bed, relegated to laying down for the expanse of their life physically pains the free puppy.

The puppy encircles the table, moving to the bed with her nose lifted high in the air, sniffing out this supposed stranger waylaid upon its surface. She paws carefully at its corner, the smallest squeak of a whimper emits from her throat, and her tail wags expectantly. If she can’t get the large figure out of bed, she will try to receive any loving kindness she can from it. Even if this small child will give her all she needs, there’s an inner drive to bring joy to those that need it. This one, stuck forever, needs joy. Finally, feeling like she’s done all she can to get the stranger’s attention, she sits nicely on her bottom, tail swishing back and forth behind her, while she watches the stranger, silently begging for some measure of attention— attention not exactly for her benefit, but for the stranger’s.

The figure is unblinking and unmoving, like a marble statue. Pointed toward one of the pictures on the wall, she stares at it unflinching when the dog closes in. When the bright jade eyes peek into the statue’s, cornflower blue ones seem to simply stare through, not seeing the attention seeking pet in favor of one of the pictures on the wall. With a labored sigh, the little girl walks over to the puppy and wraps her arms around her lifting her off the floor in a tight hug. As she takes steps toward the little wooden table, Cheza’s fat little belly and legs hang down, threatening to slide the rest of the half-wolf out of Delia’s grip.

“It’s okay Cheza, if she never gets up, we can play together forever. If she gets up, she might put me away again.” Not a concern, simply a fact. Picking up the round little teapot, Delia begins to pour out a delicious brew of invisible liquid. Once all of the cups are filled, she smiles as would a proper and cordial little hostess. “Would you like one lump of sugar or two, Cheza? Mister Peacock would like four because he likes his tea very sweet.”

The pink sock rabbit sits lopsided in his chair, flowery hat tilted slightly off kilter.

He says nothing.

The puppy doesn’t struggle in the grasp. In fact, she yields to it, giving into the love and compassion of the child’s hug. Cheza tilts her head expectantly at Delia as she taps the table with a single paw. One lump. Not too much sugar. Her head turns to watch the figure on the bed, emitting another small whimper at its presence, but no more will she whine or complain. Little Delia is a fun playmate. Even if Mister Peacock is daft.

The picture the figure had stared at becomes the soul interest of Cheza’s gaze, however. She whimpers again, a near silent whine, easily mistaken for a complaint of hunger rather than an unknowning. Of course, the puppy retains the right to play which she does, actually, enjoy. Her tail wags expectantly behind her as she peeks over the table, the near-smile, only emitted by a dog making her nearly grin as she looks onward.

“Bloop~” Delia sings out as she pinches an invisible measure of sugar into the empty cup full of imaginary tea. “One for Cheza… Bloop bloop bloop bloop~.. Four for Mister Peacock! Would you like any sugar Queen Mary?”

“Oh new thenk yoo~” the little girl sings in a slightly deeper and quite accented operatic voice while one hand moves the neck of a white, fuzzy maned, stuffed unicorn that sits at the head of the table. “Propah queenies dew not take sugah with their tea… we prefah hunnies.” Delia’s face drops as she eyes the contents of the table, “I’m sorry Queen Mary, we don’t have honey here for your tea.”

A glance backward to the lump in the bed and Delia crawls from her seat and into the bed, becoming the little spoon to the tall woman’s catatonic form. “When you get up… can you get honey for Queen Mary’s tea?”

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