Belladonna’s Symposium

Written by: Zoe Luglan

Mundanity and mediocracy made a lethal concoction in a world where excellence was the mother of love. Born to be a daughter, and devoted to the cause, she killed every part of her that bred shame and dissent. She was destined for great things, they said.

Eleonora's life was meticulously crafted in the hands of those who wished the best for her. It was a beautiful, striking mosaic of dazzling, vacant smiles, gilded masks, and formal courtesies. At the cusp of her life's spring, a ruinous revelation began to haunt her. She was all too aware she'd never satisfy their hunger for sublimity.

Yet, every morning she continued to dedicate her life to the mirage, ripping little tears in her heart with every betrayal of the soul; until one day she looked around and realized everything around her had wilted, the potentials of her life shriveled and grey. 

On this day, something deep within her had shifted. The rose-colored filter of her life had faded away, leaving nothing but a black-and-white montage—a graveyard of abandoned dreams. It left her wondering the point of it all.

This long lifeless day turned into a long lifeless night. The moon, in all her glory, shone brightly in the sky, casting leafy shadows across the floor of Eleonora's bedroom. It was within these four walls that her imagination festered in nihilistic rumination, eventually triggering within her, a desperate need to elude existence itself.

Caught in a rush of despair, she ran outside to the garden, where the air was pure and the trees whispered in the dark. Beneath the silvery moonlight, she plucked a handful of berries, shiny and black.

Upon returning to her room, she heated the kettle and crushed the berries in a satisfying squelch. When the kettle sang its ear-piercing song, she stirred the water and berries until it was dark and murky and its earthy scent filled the air. 

She curled in bed, mug warm in her hand and skin soft against the sheets. As she sipped the warmth, sweet with a bitter twinge, she wrote one last journal entry, in flawless, curling script. An ode to salvation.

While the mug's contents dwindled, her heart began to race, threatening to burst from its cage. Oh, how she wished to do the same. Swirls of purple filled her world, the edges of her vision becoming muddled.

The bed was so warm, her limbs numb and melting into the mattress. All physical burdens ceased to exist. For the first time in her life, she felt free. No longer able to keep her eyes open, she quietly retreated from a life that had never been her own.

Submerged in darkness, Eleonora was transported into a memory. She was three, in a yellow dress and braided pigtails, running free amongst wildflowers. It was a perfect day, the sun a radiant smile and the sky a canvas of cerulean. 

As she took in this vision, overwhelmed with tender longing, a being appeared, feminine and made more of light than form. Ethereal in essence and calm in grace, the angel-like spirit stood tall in front of Eleonora. 

Eleonora, stunned by the celestial beauty, asked, "Who are you?”

The light being smiled softly and said, "I'm Belladonna. Do you know where you are?”

Eleonora paused, soaking in the world around her. Her eyes rested on the horizon, taking in the expanse of petals painted in shades of yellow, pink, and purple. Could it be true? It felt like the one place she thought she'd never see, a place she'd stopped believing in since her first bleed. Softly she asked, “Heaven?”

“Not quite. You’re in between, in mortal limbo,” Belladonna spoke gently, like a mother consoling her child, “What happens next is up to you.”

It was in this moment that everything came rushing back to Eleonora. The berries, the warmth, the comforting retreat. What happens next is up to you.

Eleonora considered what it would be like to return. The wildflowers faded away, and suddenly, she was immersed in a compilation of her worst days. All the faces she fostered came into view, like slash after slash to her heart. Disappointment in her father's, resentment in her lover's, desolation in the mirror. Inadequacy haunted her, like being followed by a cloud that thickened and thickened until she choked on its pitiless haze.

She remembered the day she was ripped from her girlhood, how the sun of her world stopped shining. Her youth a dwindling hourglass—grains of sand became her only currency, and she was taught to spend it well. Pinks turned mauve, her dresses became invitations, and giggles met their end with stern looks. Why would she return to a world that killed every part of her worth keeping?

Belladonna appeared again. “Before you continue spiraling in this miserable abyss, I must warn you,” the ethereal being paused, "believing only in the dark makes you no less delusional than those who only believe in the light."

A flash of anger struck Eleonora’s core and tears filled her eyes. "But there's so much hurt," her voice broke, "Why would I want to go back to a world like that?”

Belladonna took a step closer to Eleonora, taking her hands. Light radiated between them, expanding and encompassing them in a warm embrace. 

Belladonna looked in her eyes and said, "You live because no one else can be you. No one else can create like you, love like you, or see the world like you. You live because there is always more love, waiting for you to feel it and to share it," the light being paused, "Besides, life isn't about categorizing moments between good and bad, it’s about experiencing them. Life is about loving, despite all the hurt."

Another memory came to light. She was five, wrapping a cloth bandage around her doll's leg, whispering, "You're gonna be okay, I promise."

"Do you remember her?" Belladonna asked.

"Hardly. I miss her," a heavy tear slid down Eleonora's cheek, "I miss her so much."

"My dear, she is you. You are her. Hold this truth close to your heart and never let it go. When you are lost, live for her."

Eleonora nodded, eyes wide and glossy. “I—" she paused, taking a shaky breath, “I wish I could give her a hug.”

The angel smiled, soft and warm, “You can, if you’d like. It’s your world.”

“Oh,” Eleonora breathed out and hesitantly walked over to the little girl, who looked up and smiled knowingly. Arms and hearts open, they met in a familiar sort of harmony.

"I'm sorry," Eleonora said softly, "You haven't lived it yet, but I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for not trusting you, for not listening to you."

The little girl, somewhat confused, nodded and said, "It's okay. Sometimes we're not very nice but that doesn't make us bad."

Eleonora pulled back, meeting her eyes, "Never forget, you are kind. You are loved. You are important. You deserve to exist in this world." She reached for her little hands, lightly squeezing them, "Please promise me you won't forget."

The little girl gave a firm, confident nod. "I promise," she paused, lost in thought, "as long as you promise me you won't forget that anything's possible."

The vision faded to a blur behind Belladonna's radiance. "Do you see now? How far you've been led astray? In the potency of girlhood, you saw the world for what it truly is. Endlessly full of possibilities, full of love. Adulthood can be a minefield of illusions; it is children who are the bearers of truth." 

With a newborn optimism running through Eleonora's spirit, another vision appeared in front of her. She could tell it had been a few years. She was older now, but her heart felt lighter.

She saw her own life, how wonderful it could be, if only she’d believe in its potential. Her world was bursting with love, every moment sweeter than honey. Smiles filled her days, real ones; goofy grins that emitted laughter and tethered souls.

Eleonora saw the young, bright face of herself again; excited about the prospect of life, fearless against the world, and bursting with love. If nothing else, I must live for her.

"I've made my decision," she said to Belladonna.

With a kind smile, Belladonna faded away in a swirl of light. Eleonora opened her eyes just as dawn rose to the melody of a canary's song. 

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A Wary Wrong