The Eye of The Storm

Chapter 36

 Residency of Medea, Macedonia

Aella still clung to the bleached counterpane. In fact, she gripped it so tightly that she was somewhat surprised at having not ripped a hole in it thus far. Her face was swollen from crying so viciously, and her eyelids were sticky with sweat. In the ethereal white platform, Aella was the only thing that had a trace of colour.

The magic of the platform still dazzled her senses. It was true that the room had been lacking in many aspects- furniture, colour, company- but the amount of cleanliness was almost overwhelming. Besides her reddened face, the second sign of colour was the oval-shaped leaves belonging to the tall trees, which fluttered overhead. When Aella lay flat on her back she could see them clearly.  It reminded her of home, though home had not been one distinct place. It had been many places. It had been all of Thrace in separate pieces. Even when her country was broken it could be whole within her.

She had made no attempt to apologize to Medea. Aella felt uncomfortable calling this woman her "aunt". She had met the woman for the first time yesterday and Medea had done nothing to prove she was worthy of such a title. She was a witch. A real witch. Not just in body but also in mind. There must be a true quality of evil to the woman, and after prudent observation, she was sure she would discover what this quality was.

She knew that to others she might seem childish. But those people had never been acquainted with a woman of her disposition before. It was as though she was cumulatively upset- at Durothil for lying to her, at Thoren for dying (which was ridiculous itself), and at Medea for allowing herself to be deceived. Never once, did it occur to her that she blamed these individuals for circumstances that were out of their control.

It is your fault! she had shrieked vehemently at Medea. Your fault!

It was at that moment that Medea herself entered, still wearing the shining gown. Amidst the achromatic aura of the room she was a diamond among diamonds, and the brilliance of her beauty was lessened. Even though age had begun to grace the edges of her eyes with tiny crows feet, her skin was smooth and youthful. The coils of black hair were tinged with a slight granite hue, but the close-cropped style elegantly accentuated her neck. Around the edges of the gowns neckline was a thin band of beads sewn to the material. They reflected the cool light like stars.

Medea did not bother to greet the girl, but simply began talking. It struck Aella as a rude way to begin a conversation, but then again, she had never been polite herself.

"Do you know why these rooms are all white?" her aunt asked, sitting at the edge of the bed. When Aella rolled over so that her back faced her, she continued.

"White is the colour of purity. Black forgets very easily. A stain here or some dirt there, to black it doesn't matter, because everything blends together. But white, no, white remembers."

Aella sat upright now. "If you are going to talk to me about such a meaningless subject, I would rather you leave. " She said this with no emotion. She had regained her composure and her face was solid as stone. However, beneath her apathy was a strong fire, always kindled.

To Aella's surprise, this reply did not quiet her aunt. "I would disagree with you that this is a meaningless subject. In fact, it pertains to what you have accused me of."

"And what would that be?" she replied in her unfeeling drawl.

"Of carelessness."

Medea waited to allow this riposte to sink in.

"What I mean to say is that whatever image of me your mind has taken, it is wrong. I am like a white cloth, stretched so far apart that between it you can still see everything. And each thread holds its weight as each part of me remembers how I have done you wrong." She stated this so sincerely, that Aella knew her words were true. "Never think that I don't look back and wish I had made different decisions."