To Break A Curse

Chapter 2

I wake up shivering and completely alone in the drafty painting room of our crumbling wooden house.

Marna must have already left for the fields. The sun has not risen yet, but the faint symphony of birds outside tells me it will soon.

Marna is the closest thing I have to a mother. She was the one who found me as a baby, abandoned near the edge of the village. Since no one ever came to claim me, she raised me as her own, giving me the name Illya. Because she is a farmer in the fields, she is considered a Vog, like me, doomed to live as an outcast her entire life. We are the dirt of Tsvera. The Elders, being the most powerful and influential leaders of the tribe, never associate with Vogs and are hardly ever seen outside of the ceremony hall. Their decisions are respected and carried out by their ever-faithful warriors— the Vandari, who spend their lives fighting to protect our land. Then, at the bottom lies the Vogs— the ground on which the Vandari walk and spit. Without us, they wouldn't have anyone to grow their food or collect their water, but they don't see it that way. To them, we ought to just be grateful they allow us to live in the village and for the protection they offer. But even so, I am grateful for Marna and the life she has provided for me. She is the only one to ever show me kindness and sincerity that is not contingent on my sufficiency with a sword. I have no idea what my parents were like or if my mother is still alive, but I love Marna as though she were my true mother.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I wince at the sharp pain running up my neck. I must have fallen asleep at the desk working on the final touches of Mira's painting last night. The paint has long since dried on my brushes and would be a torment to clean. Grabbing them, I make my way toward the washroom. But as I step out of the room, I notice a small puddle of water soaking into the wooden floor at my feet, reminding me of the hole I have yet to fix in the ceiling.

Sighing, I walk down the hall and drop the brushes into the chipped sink with a loud plink. Then scrubbing my hands raw under the water, I try to wash away the seemingly permanent stain of paint from my fingers, but it's pointless. Giving up, I splash some of the cold water on my face to cleanse myself of the filth that was yesterday.

As I glance up at the foggy reflection in the mirror, I'm surprised to see a light dusting of freckles across my thin cheeks, most likely darkened by the spring sun. I tend to avoid mirrors, or at least looking at myself in them because I hate seeing myself as everyone else does— weak and pathetic. Only being about five and a half feet tall with no curves, no muscle, and looking practically malnourished, I definitely fit the description of a Vog. I've always secretly envied Mira and the other Vandari women because of how strong and intimidating they look. I want to be seen as powerful. I want my skin to be adorned with tattoos instead of freckles. It is uncommon for Askirans to have a complexion as light as mine. I'm the black sheep of the village, or shall I say light sheep in a mass of dark. Most Askirans have dark complexions and tanned golden skin from being outdoors so often. I, on the other hand, have dull copper hair and cursingly light skin that turns beet red every time I go out in the sun— yet another reason for ridicule.

Taking my hair out of its long braid, I run my fingers through the snarly rust-colored curls and scoff when I notice the dark purple stains on my hands match the purple under my eyes from the years of sleepless nights. The pale gray eyes of a stranger stare back at me, like the gloomy mist that appears at dawn. Speaking of which, the sun has already risen, the light from outside the window casting a blue hue over the landscape. That means I'm late to help Marna in the field.

***

Quickly, I change into my worn work clothes and make my way down the dirt path toward the fields. I cross my arms as the cold air of the early morning seeps through the holes of my plain wool sweater, the only comfort being the peaceful calls of the birds sounding around me. Spotting Marna kneeling under a newly planted olive tree on the other side of the field, most likely securing its braces, I hurry towards her.