The fire filled the sky. If I closed my eyes, I could have sworn I was back at home with my brother and Layla. But I wasn't. Glancing around at the camp, I looked at my companions. Tyrian, the leader, Lily, and Ryie. My family and my friends.
I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to quell the nervousness. After twenty years of separation, I was returning to my homeland. To my brother.
Ryie sat down by me. Silence fell into the camp.
"Well?" Tyrian asked from his perch near the tree. "Are you going to tell us your story?"
I nod, and breathe. Twenty years. Twenty years of trying to forget, to belong in the family that found me.
I looked up and spoke.
--------------------
I come from a family of 7. My parents, a sister, and three brothers. I am the last-born. Nymar, they call me. Cursed child. I was the unwanted second daughter. The gods do not approve of two daughters. It is cursed. I am cursed.
My sister was the eldest. Beautiful and fierce, I idolized her. Namid, the Blessed One. But she never saw me. Not one of my siblings or any member of my family saw me, except for my eldest brother. Heir of my father, he was loved by my people. Gifted with a gentleness my sister lacked, yet with the strength of ten lions, he was well-beloved and respected by my people. He loved me.
He did not believe me to be a curse and sowed that belief in me. If not for him, I would have believed myself to be a curse, but because of him, I did not. People would shun and hit me, but I didn't care. I had my brother, and I had Layla, the only other person who believed me to be a blessing as well. Sweet and loving, she was loved by all. My brother most of all. They were betrothed, and planned to live together with me in a small house. Everything had been planned to perfection. Layla was the mother and sister I never had. She believed in me. And after she married my brother, I had everything. Until the sickness came.
Silent as a shadow, it crept into the houses and stole the lives of both men and women, children and elderly alike. It was unmerciful in its touch. People touched by it rarely lived. It killed, sparing no one. It came upon Layla. One day she was healthy, cheerfully ministering the sick ones, the next day, she was frail and weak.
Layla had taught me a bit of herb lore, so I tried to help her; I tried to heal her. She died. My brother and I kept vigil by her side, but he never got sick, and I, the one they call cursed, recovered. But Layla, sweet, loving Layla was gone.
My first thought was to immediately attend to my brother. He loved Layla more than I. I grabbed some herbs to help him rest, to sleep, and made him tea. He was at the table, staring into space.
"Brother," I'd said, pressing the brew into his hand. "Drink, it will help."
Then, as if snapping out of trance, my brother looked at me. And for the first time, he called me Cursed.
"Nymar," he'd snarled. "You killed her."
"I didn't!" I cried, but to no avail.
"You did! If you weren't here, she'd be alive! You cursed her. You cursed us! Nymar! Cursed!" he flung his cup at me.
I stumbled back, too stunned to cry. Never in my life had my brother called me that.
Nymar. Cursed one. The one thing he never called me. Nymar. Cursed one. It echoed in my ears, His eyes were filled with grief and hate. Aimed at me. And for the first time, I believed in what they had all said about me. I was the one who brought this curse upon my people. Nymar. Cursed one. ME.
I fled.
Hello! This is probably one of the first stories I put up in Wattpad. As you may tell, it is untitled, because I didn't know what to call it.
If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them. Thanks!
--Aster
