3 Daylily Hair

Rayne awakens early the next morning curled on her side in her small bed. It's nearly dawn and the air is cool throughout the house. Her coarse, grey blanket is pulled up to her chin and her blonde locks sprawl across her old, flat pillow. She struggles to see through her disheveled bangs as her eyes adjust to the dim daylight in the room. The rain is already falling hard onto the wooden roof of her grandmother's cabin. Turning to lie on her back, she closes her eyes again lazily and listens to the way the rain pounds and pours down the sides of the dainty little home. A stray drop kisses her on the forehead between her light brown, arched eyebrows. Then falls another. Picking out the leak in her ceiling, she rises out of her bed, stretching like a cat. Rayne has gotten used to doing close to all of the chores around the home. With there being no man of the house for many years, she wasn't expecting her frail grandmother to pick up the duties. Because of this, Rayne has developed many skills that women of the state don't normally obtain.

Walking over to the old, wooden dresser in the corner of the room, she pulls open the top drawer, struggling as it jams and creaks. Picking out an aged dress that used to be white, she slips it over her head. Letting it droop to the floor over her lean body, it hugs loosely on her curved hips. Its color is dull and dirty due to the many years of being worn and worked in, as is most of the clothing in Azmodan. Holes and loose strings are evidence of hard washing, trying to get the stains out. Rayne stands in front of the mirror and pulls her long hair back into a loose ponytail with the same blue ribbon she always uses. The rain makes her blonde spirals double in size as they soak in the moisture in the air. She fiddles with her bangs and loose baby curls that frame her face. Once moderately satisfied, she pulls on tall, white stockings and shoves her small feet into pointy, black boots, buckling them at the sides. It feels frigid even inside the house. Rayne grabs her raggedy, tan coat, slips into a bonnet and gloves, and heads out into the dense rain.

Instantly, her old coat is drenched, but she's gotten used to the wet feeling. The rain today is thick, however not angry like the day before. Rayne begins the short walk from the cabin to her grandmother's flower shop. The heavy drops fall straight down, causing little beads of water to form on the rim of her black bonnet. She feels grateful it's not very windy as she splashes down the dirt road. The walk to the shop in the rain is peaceful and quiet as most of the other villagers are just waking up. Arriving at Grandmama's shop, she pulls the bonnet down, letting it hang on the back of her neck. She takes in a deep breath of the familiar, flowery scent. A sick feeling plays in her stomach as she thinks about her grandma never returning. Rayne shakes her head of her sad images.

Wanting to distract herself from her own head, she begins searching. "Hammer…hammer…" she thinks aloud. Sifting through various drawers and cabinets for some time, she finally spots one buried in the back. "Aha!" she exclaims proudly. Grabbing the hammer, some rusty nails, and a spare chunk of wood she draws her bonnet back on and heads out of the shop, turning to lock the door behind her. Swiveling around on her heel, she face plants into the brooding chest of Fletcher.

"Hey Rainy. How's my girl today?" he leans one hand on the wall next to her head while resting the other on a jutted-out hip. Holding her bumped nose, she looks past him to see Simeon and Harold waiting behind him like whipped dogs. Both boys are younger than Rayne, about sixteen, with Fletcher being at least ten years their senior. Simeon is the shortest of the three with a stocky build. His black curls sit atop a prominent brow. His green eyes are narrow and his boyish grin wide. Harold, on the other hand, is tall and bony, much taller than Fletcher. His toothy smile and thick lips sport a small moustache. His light brown eyes are wide above a big, pointy, freckled nose. His short, brown hair falls flat on his square head from the rain. Fletcher's pretentious act is always amplified when he's trying to show off. He continues without her answering, "So look I was thinking. I shouldn't have been so brief with you yesterday. I should have been more understanding of your mistakes, considering your grandma just died."

'Mistakes?' she thinks to herself, getting soaked some more in the rain. She is already fed up with this unannounced visit. "It's fine. I was tired and wanted to be alone anyways." she excuses sharply.

"Don't be so cold in front of my friends." he demands, motioning toward them with his head. "I would hate for them to think my wife is disrespectful. Besides, you look way prettier when you just smile and nod." His brow arches and the corners of his mouth curl up as he patronizes her. He reaches out and grabs her chin, rubbing her bottom lip with his thumb. His idiots snicker in the background.

"Ugh," she rolls her eyes, "I'm not trying to be pretty for you and I'm not your wife. I'm in a hurry to get back home though. I'm sorry. I have some work to do there." She tries to step past him, hoping her excuses satisfied him, but he puts his arm up, blocking her. Fletcher glances down at the tools in her hands through his specs, the rain falling off the brim of his top hat.

"Wow what 'chya got there Rayne?" he asks, as if speaking to a lost toddler. Glancing back at his peers, they all three cackle in unison. Rayne's face falls blank, totally unamused. "Why didn't you tell Ole Fletcher you had some man-work that needed tending to?"

"Surely, I can handle it myself. Dear." she replies sarcastically, squinting at him.

"Oh, Rainy. So proud." he pokes. He reaches out and grabs the wooden plank, attempting to yank it from her arms. "Just tell Fletcher what you need so you can get back to doing…whatever it is you women do besides look pretty." He waves his hand dismissively, letting out a snarky laugh. Simeon and Harold sneer at their lord's stupid joke, nudging each other with their elbows. Rayne jerks the wooden piece from Fletcher's grasp, glaring into his eyes. She shoves him aside and walks away. She ignores his misogynistic comments and doesn't look back as he calls after her.

"Rayne, where do yo…." he trails off when he realizes she's not going to stop.

"Ooooo" Simeon and Harold coo together.

"Quiet!" Fletcher spits, causing the two younger boys to compress their grins. He refuses to beg for any woman in front of his admirers. He scowls angrily at his defiant fiancé through narrowed eyes as she walks away from him. How dare she?! "C'mon you idiots!" he barks, "I want out of this pitiful rain."

Rayne arrives back home to find her bed and linens soaking wet, due to the relentless downpour. Having done this many times before, she grabs a chair from the dining room and places it atop her sopping mattress, which is only a foot from the ground. Grasping all of her tools, she climbs up carefully, wobbling at first before catching her balance. Luckily for her, the roof of her house is low, and she can reach it easily outstretched above her head. She cautiously nails in the wooden plank and leaps down, looking up proudly at her work.

'I've never needed a man before, I definitely don't need Fletcher.' she thinks, her face souring at his name. 'Who does he think he is anyway?' Rayne doubts she'll be able to handle that marriage. It has only been a few weeks of them being betrothed and already, she is grimacing over thoughts of him. 'There is no way I can deal with that smug face every day.' she agrees with herself. She wonders if there's anything she can do to get out of the marriage contract. Maybe she should try speaking to her father? The thought makes her cringe. Rayne quickly washes all of her soiled bedding and heads back outside. It is difficult to be in her grandmother's old home right now. Stepping out of the house, she sees her neighbor, Clementine, emerging from her cabin across the street. Her straight, orange hair is braided into two pigtails underneath a pale, pink bonnet. From her long, slender face pokes two wide, light brown eyes surrounded by a sea of freckles. Her thin figure doesn't warm her much in the cool weather, and she shivers as she pulls the collar of her dark grey coat tighter around her neck. Upon seeing Rayne, she flashes a perky smile and prances over, waiving her dainty, gloved hand above her head.

"Hey Rayne! How are you feeling today?" her voice is a mixture of cheer and concern.

"I'm okay." Rayne lies. As they begin walking, Clementine loops her arm through Rayne's. "How are things going with you?"

"I'm fine…" she trails, "how are things with you, REALLY?" Clementine presses, knowing her friend to be one that holds back her true feelings.

Rayne smirks at her concern. "I'm okay Clem. It's just gonna be hard for a while. You know?" Clementine nods and pulls her arm closer, giving it a comforting squeeze. If it weren't for Grandmama being sick for some time, Rayne would be struggling more with this. The past few weeks held a lot of crying nights over her grandma's impending death, not to mention yet another betrayal by her father. Pushing her thoughts back, Rayne notices Clementine acting jittery. The way she's tapping her fingers and chewing on her lip, Rayne knows she wants to tell her something.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Huh? What? Nothing!" Clementine says innocently.

"C'mon, I know you, just tell me." She smiles sweetly.

"…Okay...I spent the night with Charles!" squeals Clementine with excitement.

Rayne gasps sarcastically. "Oooo," she teases, "and? I know you have more to say." Clementine wasn't one to stay quiet for very long.

"Oh my Gods Rayne, it was amazing. I don't know if it's because he's married or what, but it was so much more intense than with John or Alexander. Oh! And much bigger too." she juts her hands out in front of them, displaying his size. Rayne blushes and chuckles. Though she was still a virgin, she did enjoy living vicariously through Clementine's promiscuous lifestyle.

"You know, you're a terrible person for sleeping with a married man!" Rayne picks at her.

"Oh whatever. Mabel's a bitter, old hag. You know she hasn't slept with him in three months?! I mean, come on, look at the man! He's gorgeous!" It's true, he is. "Whatever," she continues, "according to everyone else I'm going to Hell anyways, might as well have some fun." She blows a laugh through her nose. Clementine's burnt orange hair has been a life-long curse. It is seen that, although not all red heads are witches, all witches have ginger hair of some shade. Being born with bright orange hair, the other villagers have always treated her with suspicion. Except for Rayne's grandparents, that is. They welcomed the pale, freckled child and, also feeling outcasted due to her broken family, she and Rayne bonded instantly. Now, the two girls have been inseparable nearly their whole lives. Rayne grins while remembering Clementine as a young lady, along for the picking of flowers with her and her grandparents. Her orange strands mirrored the sunshine, making her blend in easily with the wild daylilies.

"Oh stop it." Rayne shoves her playfully. "What do they know? Those people wouldn't know their own butt crack from Fletcher's chin." Clementine erupts into a deep laugh, covering her hand with her mouth and holding her stomach.

"Quit it!" she cries. Rayne has always enjoyed making her laugh. In her opinion, Clementine has the most genuine laughs in the village and hearing it puts a smile across her cheeks. The two approach the center of the village, giggling to each other at Fletcher's expense They notice a small crowd that has gathered near the butcher shop. Quickly, they make their way over to them, too curious to ignore it. As they get closer, Rayne notices a husky pair of booted legs poking out from behind the building. She pushes forward through the onlooking villagers to find Mr. Hytop, the town butcher, lying face down in the dirt. His wide, lifeless eyes are open beneath his bald head. His plump cheek is squished flat to the earth, leaving his mouth agape. His arms are twisted beneath him unnaturally, causing his hips to be slightly risen. His skin, normally red and puffy, looks shriveled and grey. On the side of his throat, just below his thick jawline, are two, small puncture wounds.