A continuation from The Blossoming Friendship
Dark violet clouds drifted across the red orange hues in the sky. Professor Aiyana Bellefeuille was captivated as she gazed at the shadows of the birds flying towards the glowing sunset in the horizon. The band and the Pow-Wow dances at the festival were beginning to wrap up for the evening. She decided to call it a day early as she liked to get a head start on grading her students’ papers. Her hips move down the sidewalk leading to her car as her hair is swaying in the breeze.
When she finally opened the door to her home, she was grateful for the one hundred candles that were burning in various rooms throughout her place. Ever since she was a young girl, Aiyana has suffered from Raynaud’s syndrome in which she feels perpetually cold. The slow flow of her blood has caused pain, numbness, and tingling in the past. Her fingers can easily turn white within minutes of grabbing things from the freezer. Praying for a simple solution, salty sweat dripping from her breasts as a result from all the candles was a much better alternative all things considering.
It wasn’t like she was begging or anything, but when she received the opportunity to teach in Maine, she was jumping up and down with joy. She debated whether or not to accept her appointment because of the wintry climate, but decided to take the plunge anyway. She was passionate about her field of expertise, and teaching at a school founded from Native American roots was very meaningful for her.
She placed her keys on the counter of the mirrored side table against the wall near the entrance. Aiyana was silent as studied the ominous painting titled “The Beast Inside of Me” above the table. As an art aficionado, her tastes were quite varied. “Let me love you to death,” she cooed as if talking to a baby. She appreciated the monochromatic scheme of how darkness was portrayed and enjoyed the interplay of various types of paint strokes. Aiyana also wanted to decorate her place for the season of Halloween, and chuckled at the thought of her friends walking into her home to immediately be greeted by this cloaked figure.
Aiyana grabbed a bottle Valserrano Rioja Crianza from the closet and uncorked the bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass. She took out a stack of papers from her rolling suitcase and took a seat by the dining table. She gazed at the first assignment regarding the “Trail of Broken Treaties”, a twenty point manifesto that was adopted by Native American activists who demanded for reparations on October 31, 1972 in Minnesota.
Anticipating a stack of fascinating essays, she subtlety licked her smooth lips and took a sip of the spicy, aromatic Rioja. Aiyana’s black lipstick stains her glass as she sets it down. She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She whips out her rolling ball pen and begins grading the papers with gusto. She hungrily studied the essays with vigor losing track of time. “I can feel what these students are saying. They are trying to prove their claims.”
After a few hours, she rolled her neck to both of her shoulders stretching her muscles and looked out the window. It was a beautiful moonlit night as the stars were shining. She smiled as her dog howled at the moon, “Always thinking she’s a wolf that one is…“Needing a break, she took out a pack of Virginia Slims, when all of the sudden she hears a voice.
“May I light your cigarette?” A well dressed man donning white gloves handled a lighter with a dancing flame.
Shocked by this intruder, Aiyana immediately reached for gun from her school bag ready to defend herself, “And you are?”
Unaffected by her defensiveness, he replied, “I am your servant. Your wish is my law. The Sinclairs are bounded by loyalty to your family. Your father sent me here after you moved away to Maine. Is that answer good enough?”