Thirteen Lullabies | ✓

IX.II

In my few years in England, I had made it a point to always have a journal with me in case I had the time to sketch. And you had just presented me with the opportunity, a beautiful subject for my next sketch.

Pulling out my journal and a piece of charcoal, I sketched your small frame, thin rays of sunlight flitting through the leaves of the trees, illuminating the blue of your eyes and the thick pout of your lips. I sketched the water on either side of you, and then across the brook, I sketched the tall trees that stretched into the sky.

Just as I was finishing up, you closed the book, coming out of the trance you had been in for hours. You raised an eyebrow, eyes peering at the journal in my hand. "What have you been doing?"

I showed you the sketch, and you looked at me in awe. "Wow. You are very talented. May I see some of your other sketches?"

I nodded, handing you the leather notebook in my hands. You turned it to the first page. You held it in such a way that I was able to see each sketch you saw, though I was looking more intently at your reaction.

When you reached my sketches of you from each of our previous lives, your breath caught in your throat. You traced the elegant neckline of Calliope, the determined set of Althaea's jaw, the figure of Morrigan dancing around a fire. Your eyes danced over Brynhildr's combat-ready body, and a twirling Rani, skirt flying around. Your eyes widened at the portrait I had made of Blanche from memory, turning to me with a million questions on your tongue.

"I don't understand."

"What?" My eyes ran over your features, hoping something would give away what you were thinking.

Shooting up into a stand, you began walking back the way we had come. When you noticed I wasn't following, you turned around. "I need to show you something."

And so we made the walk back, past the wooded area, past the field of dandelions, past the nice lawn with a fountain in the center. We walked into a different door in the palace and you pulled me into a neighboring room.

The guard at the door nodded at you, eyeing me as he allowed us to enter the large room.

I looked around, noting that we were in a museum of sorts. You stood in the center, inspecting me as if I were a specimen and not another onlooker.

I was curious why you had brought me here, so I looked around, eyes landing on the wall to my left. My eyes widened and I looked over at you, though your face told me nothing of what you were thinking.

Walking over to the wall, I noticed Althaea's dagger, the one I had lost so many years before, with green marble snakes intertwined to form the hilt.

I couldn't believe my eyes. I had made a stupid mistake long ago, sometime after France. I was walking through the streets of London, when a pickpocket stole the bag of items right off of me. He had filled it with rocks and I hadn't even noticed until much later. But now, here was the dagger.

You came to stand beside me, the sketch I had drawn of Althaea in your hand. In the picture, I had drawn the very same knife.

"This. This is what I don't understand. How were you able to capture Althaea so well, and how did you know about the dagger?"

I was in awe as well, still shocked that somehow the English crown had managed to get their hands on this ancient relic. "You know of Althaea?"

You nodded, eyebrows drawn.

"I guess you could say I have dreams too. And when I see something in a dream, I draw it." It was the only way I could describe it without scaring you. You weren't ready to hear the truth.