Yellow Ribbon

Mirianna stared at the bottom of the basket her aunt held out, every other piece of ribbon snatched up at the hands of her cousins, leaving only one color behind. 

Yellow.

She swallowed. Something stuck in the back of her throat. 

Today had already been miserably long. Now this.

She reached in, hand hovering for a half second before picking up the length of satin, its pale hue only a shade darker than her fingers, clashing with the undertones of her skin. It would only be worse in her hair, near her face. People already pointed out how tired she looked, at only thirteen. 

The something stuck in the back of her throat grew bigger. 

Her eyes flickered to the side, tracing the icy blue that was already wrapped around Genevieve’s braid. Dark green ran over the crown of Anastasia’s head, tied in a looping bow next to her ear. Chocolate brown, brilliant red, and rosy pink all danced in the corners of her vision as the little girls spun them through the air with joyful steps. 

Mirianna didn’t dance. Not anymore. People whispered of how serious she had become, calling her a poor lamb and a dear child, thinking she didn’t hear. She did. 

Her thumb ran across the silky ribbon, fingers involuntarily weaving over and under its slippery sides. She would have known how poorly Mirianna looked in yellow, how it did nothing for either of their complexions.

Another something slipped in the pit of her stomach, thick and hot, and her body barely curled in on itself, her hand pinching the ribbon tight. 

A gruff voice across the room caught at her, drawing her away from the riot of color to the pair of men in resplendent uniform facing each other, her father angled just enough so that she could watch his face. His shoulders were straight, strong, steady. Yet, half-moons curved under each of his eyes, his cheekbones more pronounced than last year, his mustache peppered with grey. Did they say things about him too? Did they whisper how much he had changed? Did it weigh heavy on him as well?

Light danced across the front of his coat as he shifted, a medal flashing where it hung from a ribbon covered bar pinned to his chest. 

Yellow.

As if he could sense her, his hazel eyes flickered to Mirianna’s. He smiled. Small and tired, but a real one all the same. No one else got his real smiles these days. Just her.

Mirianna pulled the satin length around her waist, tying it with the square knot he had taught her. He watched, then followed her eyes to the bar on his chest, his smile sinking deeper. Her shoulders drew a little straighter, the somethings fading smaller. 

Let them say what they would. She no longer cared how she looked in yellow.