Isadora was vibrant. A young woman who radiated with innocence and play. Her striking and shapely figure hidden under her conservative décor left much to the imagination.
She was unsuspectingly ominous yet alluring. Like forbidden fruit you’re not supposed to touch or even imagine eating yet one can’t help but look and wonder.
Something is different in her plainness that is anything but.
Something that, from a distance, inspires the hands and imaginations, like a muse, of the poet in men and suspicion in women. Not because of anything she did. It was more about what she wasn’t doing. It made her undefinable. She just was. These are the things that inspire fear and wonder. Making us wonder why it feels so compelling. And so our imagination begins to write.
Perhaps it's the quiet.
Perhaps it’s the mystery.
Perhaps it was her translucent opal eyes.
She walked into the ground lightly, often donning a cloak. It’s plush velveteen grey created a visual silence that left her initially more felt than seen. It’s soft color created a canvas for her eyes.
She bestowed a ghost-like aura that consistently bled her into her environments. It was like she was a part of the Earth. Wrapping her conservatively dressed vessel. Keeping it warm. Keeping her secrets close. Yet she protected nothing.
Not knowing can create fear as much as it can inspire creativity. Stories that expand and destroy. Inspire and freeze. She was often misunderstood in her quiet nature though people couldn’t understand why. There was nothing about her that reflected anything but sincerity, courtesy and kindness. She came across as conservative, innocent and sweet with a quiet confidence that expresses itself in her acceptance of others, presence and clarity of her actions. The quiet can do that. Often the loudest space of all.
People would look to her eyes for answers, but in doing so most of them only felt their own souls. Causing many to look away or uncertain what to do or say. There is something unsettling about being seen. About being stripped and unraveled by another only to realize that you were not who you thought you were and nor was anyone else.
The town was still in a space of redefining itself. The Witch Trials had recently expired casting a shadow over the land and into the hearts of the people. Fear is a powerful tool as they had seen and mystery can be just as powerful when misunderstood. The advancement of society was at the core. To look past the events of the last decade. To forget and move on. Shame, mystery and fear still roamed the land under the tension that quietly resonated from the hearts of the people. How does one move on from there.
They were choosing
To Forget.
Try to forgive and
Let go.
The gifts that were attempting to come into the world would have to wait until another time.
Until then they were to remain buried under the ground
Where they would continue to cultivate and play until another day.
A day when humanity and Salem were ready.
Until then
they would forget.