Marrow to Market

Today the reading room is filled with warm sunshine. The bay window is cracked open and the smell of summertime grass fills the air. The view is comforting, vast. A meadow that rolls out to an ocean far away. There, among the green, a gray blanket is laid out. A couple sit there, you can’t see a picnic spread out, but there must be one. What else would they be doing in such a secluded place?

With a shrug, you lower yourself onto the cushions of the reading nook, lift the book and it falls open in your hands.

Marrow to Market

“Marrow to Market” The Great Gift of the World – Fit For An Autopsy

It wasn’t like collecting nuts, or shearing sheep. He didn’t go about his business under the bright light of day, nor did he skulk about in the dark. He didn’t use a cart for his wares and he certainly didn’t have a farm or shope where he plied his trade. He did, however, have tools and an unmatched expertise in his field. Not that there were many others like him. Most couldn’t handle the guilt. The ones that could were too superstitious for dealing in business.

No, Moren was the only collector on the Splintered Continent.

He grinned. “Last one had a bit of bad luck,” he muttered. She lost her nerve and leapt into the angry sea.

“Pardon?” said the woman beside him, Jessip. Her name was Jessip. 

He turned, letting her sink into the rich brown eyes that he’d created just for her. Ran a hand through the tousled blond hair in which, he knew, she longed to tangle her fingers. “Sorry, Jess, I was just thinking of the fool that turned you down. Bad luck for him, good for me,” he said with a shy smile.

Her cheeks went the color of rose petals and she turned her eyes to the blanket on which they sat. “No, Sir” she demurred. “I am the lucky one.”

Moren touched her arm lightly. “Nonsense. But tell me, Jessip, what is your soul’s deepest desire?” he asked, just above a whisper.

“First,” she said, still looking at the blanket. “I have to know how it’s done, Moren. Tell me how you grant wishes.”

 “My dear,” Moren put his hand to his chest, chuckled and gave her a gentle smile, “you know I can’t tell you that. I can’t just give away trade secrets.”

She frowned, but didn’t argue.

“What is it that you dream of,” he asked again, running his hand up to her elbow so that she looked up, her gray eyes wide. “What do you long for, love? What is at the center of your very being, ear Jessip. Tell me, so that I might offer it up to you.”

Jessip’s lips curved up, and he knew he had her. He slipped a hand into his breast pocket and plucked out the empty vial. It wasn’t anything fancy. That would come later when he distilled her marrow, made it pretty for his customers.

“Well, Moren,” she whispered, leaning close so that her lips brushed his ear, “I want you to tell me what you get in return.” 

He leaned away from her, frowning. “What a smart girl, Jessip. No one has ever asked me what they might have to exchange for their soul’s desires.” Morin considered her for a long quiet moment. Her fiery hair, her wide gray eyes, the way her bottom lip pushed out just enough to catch his notice. She was a kitten, and he a wolf. What could it hurt? “You ask, and I shall tell you. I am not only a granter of desires, I’m a collector of marrow.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. She wouldn’t understand, of course. And so he’d still have his prize.

“You mean to collect my bone marrow?” Her eyes got bigger, if that were possible.

Morin clicked his tongue and was sure to look offended when he replied “Not at all. Nothing so messy, Jessip.”

The poor girl could only blink in confusion. “But you said ‘marrow’,” she almost pouted.

“I did indeed, but the marrow I collect doesn’t need cutting or bleeding. Nothing so vulgar,” he gave her another of his soft smiles. “It doesn’t hurt, and when I’m done you will go about your life immersed in your perfect dream.”

“Why call it marrow if it isn’t in my bones?” She asked.

Morin frowned. “Jessip, love, your questions are becoming bothersome.”

“Oh?” She asked, and her lip quirked up on one side.

Now he scowled at her, “Indeed. It’s unbecoming, my dear.”

Her eyebrows went up and her face tilted, but that half smile remained. “Oh, dear! I’d hate to become less attractive to you, my love,” she purred.

Now it was she who traced a line up his arm. Her fingers brushed softly from his elbow to his wrist until they curled around the vial in his hand.

“I’ve worked so hard at becoming the perfect girl for you,” her grin widened. “I listened so intently to all the things you found lovely and captivating. I did all I could to be innocent and timid. To be meek and humble. It would be a shame if it were all lost because of my questions.” She was looking at him now, one eyebrow raised, that hideously wicked grin spreading. “Besides, I already know the answers…”

“My lady?” he inhaled the words. His face, usually so easy to hold still, was twisting. He could feel the pinch of his lips, the sharpening of his eyes.

“I thought my voice would give me away, Morin,” she said, and something that felt like flies feet scuttled over the back of his neck. 

***

Thunder rolled through the hollow parts of her. The parts he broke. The parts he emptied out. She watched his expression transform from a smug, seductive smirk to confusion. And then he was struggling to hold on to his mask.

Jessip shook her hair, letting the enchantment sift out. Her silky ginger waves turned dark, slid further down her back. Her gray eyes, something he’d told her he admired in young women, faded further, turned the color of midsummer. 

Morin’s eyes grew wide, he couldn’t hold their color, and he too, was now changing back to himself. She didn’t need his talent to see what he really wanted at that moment. She could see his mind whirring, his need to make sense of this, his disbelief and fear and hatred all warring on his face as his mask slipped away and the real man leaned away from her.

“What is it, Master? Aren’t you proud? Your pupil has finally mastered the trade…” she plucked the vial from his fingers, grinning. “I didn’t throw myself into the sea, I did, however,” she bobbed her head from side to side, and blew out a laugh, “go a bit mad for a time. But I’ve been studying. I’ve been learning. Let me demonstrate, Master.” She leaned in, popping the cork from the bottle with her thumb, like she’d done countless times before.

Note:

This story is the first of an ongoing series inspired by lyrics suggested by friends. If you’ve got a favorite line from a song, I’d love to hear it in the comments, and I’ll see what I can dream up.

If any of my stories spark something in you, please feel free to make your own art in response! I’d love to see what you create, whether it’s a sketch, a snippet of writing, or something entirely different. I’m eager to feature original art in place of the stock photos I’m using for now.

Just keep in mind, my pieces are creative sketches, rough drafts that I don’t stress over. So if you want to share, know that your doodle is equal to my writing doodle. I’m not looking for masterpieces (though I won’t turn them down). Just scraps. You know, the things that get stuck in your head and have no bigger picture to fit into. Yeah, those are my favorite.

Thanks for reading.
—K