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𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒
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"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘺𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺."
𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 Aesira learned not to wander carefree in the corridors of the mansion. The aura surrounding her ancestral home was long gone and the once polished floors had dull patches that none of the servants had the strength to repair, or perhaps lacked the courage.
She avoided the main corridors so as not to encounter the shady figures who came to visit her mother during the day, some even in the middle of the night. Once she made that mistake and the experience left her with more nightmares than fond memories.
Calantha had never given a clear answer as to who those figures were, but it had never seemed necessary to justify her actions to a child, her daughter. "They're not anyone you need to worry about." Sometimes the answer was accompanied by a wrinkled nose and pursed lips, the lowered eyebrows casting a shadow that made her amber eyes seem even brighter.
Over the years you learn many things. Aesira learned very early not to ask many questions. Her curiosity was so great, too much someone could say (―not her mother's exact words).
Why had the servants suddenly become few? Why were they so scared? Why weren't her tutors able to look her in the eyes? Why didn't they go to visit other villages as they did in the past? Why did the atmosphere seem so strange? Why didn't anyone want to answer her questions?
(Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?)
The servants trembled at the very thought of meeting her mother. The tea was served by a young fae girl. One day she made a mistake, Aesira could still remember the smell of tea spilled on the ground, her mother's screams of indignation as she tried to cover her ears. She never saw that girl again, nor did the other servants know what happened to her.
Aesira started bringing the tea from that day on.
She thought her mother was a burden to the entire Court. Slowly sucking the life out of her surroundings. Aesira didn't really know what to make of her mother, her entire being. She was confused by the woman, but at the same time she needed her for some strange reason, she needed her approval. Her powers were considered invaluable and her mother seemed to take every advantage of this. "You have to practice or you will never live up to your father's expectations."
Her father.
What a joke.
His figure was used by his mother as a pretext for everything. By now her father made his presence felt less and less in public. His public appearances were few and for a short time, his presence in the house was like a breath of wind that came and went suddenly. She didn't see her father often. But she often found herself wandering in front of his door.
(In her saddest moments she rested her forehead on the solid wood outside of his bedroom door, watching her tears fall on the dull floor. She thought her father could feel her presence on the other side, she thought that at least that idea could bring her comfort.)
She wanted back what they had years ago. The few times his father left that room his eyes were blank, apathetic. They looked into the distance without seeing anyone. When they looked at her there was sometimes a sign of recognition, but it went away as suddenly as it came.
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She remembers how she once found him in the garden, looking sadly at a rose. Her mighty tree that protected her, now reduced to a fragile branch. Now he looked like a soul in pain wandering the corridors, a ghost. She remembered how she slowly approached him with silent footsteps, squatting beside him and wondering why he was looking at the flower so sadly.
"Father." she called softly. At least one attempt couldn't hurt.
He seemed oblivious to her presence and suddenly jumped as if he had just awakened from an endless dream. He looked at her with startled eyes, almost half closed as if he was trying to recognize who was standing in front of him. A moment later, a moment of clarity.
As if he hadn't just been taken by surprise, he spoke as if he hadn't spoken in years. "Aesira, my beautiful child." He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. Saying her name more to remind him who that name belonged to, rather than to start a conversation with her. He looked at her with a small smile, his eyes seemed to have taken back some of that life he was missing. "Look at you, how you grew up." She was still a child, but she had grown a few inches. It seemed strange to her how he was making this statement, he was looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time in a long while.
That had been called a moment. A moment, a fraction of time associated with the idea of short duration or mere episodicity. As quickly as it had arrived, as quickly it had gone.
The father began to clench his fists as if he were in pain. His face had turned a ghostly white, his eyes had suddenly sunken and seemed to have acquired a look of terror. His forehead wet with sweat, his shortness of breath. He was panting, muttering something incomprehensible. Maybe something that started with an "f".
Aesira did not remember many details of what had happened, too shocked to even think. She tried to touch her father's arm before feeling his grip on her wrist.
He collapsed on the grass trembling. He held his shoulders as if to protect himself. His knuckles had turned white as his face. He kept repeating "Please...please, stop." Incessantly, as if it were a prayer addressed to the Cauldron. As if praying was the only thing that could save him from a danger that only he could see.
She didn't know when or how her mother materialized behind her, taking her by the shoulder. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet ―she was sure she was shaking like her father at that point. She tried to open her mouth to ask her mother for help, but when she took her eyes off the scene before her, she was petrified by her mother's reaction.
It was an exaggeration to call it a reaction, maybe because there was none at all.
Calantha was looking at her husband with the same self-righteous air as she looked at the servants or the other residents of the Spring Court. Realizing that her daughter was looking at her, her gaze became more saddened. The mask was back in its place. "Let's take your father back to his room," she said in a voice that betrayed no emotion. "You know he needs to rest."
While servants helped her father get up and take him back to his room, Calantha was dragging her daughter back into the mansion.
"I don't know why he was out at all," she mumbled under her breath, as if her daughter weren't there. "I have to solve that..." As if the daughter couldn't hear her.
The only sign that the day really happened was the bruise on Aesira's wrist, which faded a few days later, just as the event faded from the minds of the servants.
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Calantha became more and more involved in the life of the Court. Her father, under no condition to carry out his duties. With his poor health, her mother took on all the obligations of a High Lord. "Your father has appointed me regent," she hadn't even bothered to hide the satisfaction in her tone. "In the meantime we will wait for his health to improve." Aesira had never seen such a radiant smile on Calantha's face, the woman seemed to have more teeth than she really had.
(What were you thinking about, mother? Why were you smiling like that?)
Little by little, the mask she had built was crumbling. Before, she tried to hide, hide her true personality, her true intentions. What had previously been glances veiled in disgust were now exposed openly.
Some servants began to disappear for some strange reason. The bright mansion, her home, became a gloomy, dark place. Often the only footsteps that rang out were only the child's own. People she had never seen came and went as they pleased. Her mother who conversed amiably with said figures. They were few, but their presence was a disturbing shadow in the girl's mind.
One of these figures, Aesira only later knew of his name, was Gawen.
Looking into his eyes was like observing the darkest abyss that just waits for someone to approach and then trap him forever. Black. His eyes were as black as his hair. He had only one expression and the little girl had found him several times looking at her, silently. Tucked away in a corner of his mother's study while they were having their weekly tea. Under his gaze, Aesira could feel goosebumps spreading all over her body.
She didn't like him. Not at all.
And she hated that huge forehead of his.
She knew that there were sentries in the court and she also remembered how the chief had given up his position to find a more peaceful life, leaving his position to another worthy fae. Sometimes she managed to sneak out to watch them train, admiring their power and agility. The little girl imagined joining them in their lessons, being sure of herself, lethal. But she also knew that her mother would never allow it.
So imagine the little girl's surprise to learn that Gawen had been appointed head of her mother's personal guard. Something she didn't even think existed.
She used them as if they were puppets.
Aesira herself was a puppet in her mother's hands, so it didn't surprise her at all that the guards were used in the same way.
He was the head, the faithful dog who followed the orders of his mistress.
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Aesira's mother looked up from her unknown letters, arching a judgmental eyebrow. "You were in the gardens again, weren't you?"
Aesira looked down at her hands, right now they were very interesting to look at and then sheepishly looked back at her mother. "Just for a while," she pointed out. "I wasn't gone too long and I wanted spend some time outsid―"
"You know no one's ever gonna love you with that wild personality of yours, sweetie," said her mother knowingly. "You don't have time to play, nor neglect your studies. You could have used that time to study, and instead? You were out picking flowers!"
Aesira's face fell, she only wanted some petals to put in one of her books.
"Oh, come now; don't give me that look." Her mother went back to her writing, scratching the parchment with her nail. "You know I'm only telling you because I want what's best for you."
Aesira swallowed loudly, she didn't know what to do. At that moment her throat felt so, so dry.
She felt a hand squeeze around her neck from behind, the grip so tight that she couldn't breathe. "Look your mother in the eye when she speaks." A grip on the hair made her look up. Out of the corner of her eye she could only see a dark figure.
The hoarse voice belonged to none other than the chief of the guard.
She could almost feel her heart beating wildly in her chest.
Calantha was watching her now. "I'm not angry," she added almost with a pout. "Just disappointed."
"Take her away. To her room." She started massaging her temples. "I don't have time for this."
The man's smug expression was the last thing she saw before the grip on her neck tightened.
Black.
She only saw black.
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She missed the light.
She missed the sky.
She missed freedom.
Curled up in a corner of her room, she thought about things.
No one could stop the thoughts that enveloped her like a whirlwind.
She thought about what she had before.
She missed everything.
She missed her father.