Everest
Years past by, still, I always looked for her in the village. I searched the frosty dungeons and every village house. But I could never find her, even in the lowest and poorer parts of town where some of the minacious beasts had their wings ripped off their own backs.
Maybe she really was human. I just didn't want to believe it. Besides- no beast would let any human who entered these woods leave unharmed. Let alone alive.
But I had to believe it. Over the years I started to give up and just accepted that she was probably dead. My body mourned her death but in my mind I kept telling myself she was alive.
By 15 years old I already started my last year of school and as Mr. Joghstom got older with hair and wings that started to grey, I changed too. My eyes brightened and glowed stronger. I got taller and my muscles grew. My wings became a richer black and grew longer, like any other boy my age. I started training harder and even had Rutner use a hot pick and ink to create art on my skin. But it only made me think of the girl from seven years ago even more. How had she changed? Was she still as tiny? Fragile? Maybe her life was completely different from mine. Did she still think about me? Or was I just crazy and holding onto a memory I should've let go a long time ago?
My thoughts would go deeper than simple questions sometimes keeping me up all night. Did she grow like me? Grow the way a woman does? Did she ever get a boyfriend as she got older? Was she still a virgin? These thoughts hurt my head and my heart. A small part of me hoped she never had a boyfriend so we could be each other's firsts- for everything. I despised myself for thinking this way since I only met her once.
The idea that I would ever find her, even in another lifetime, were stupid and foolish of me.
By 19, deep down in my heart I never really stopped looking for that girl, refusing to believe she could be dead. I started to hate myself for leaving her in the woods with her father.
By instinct, I found my self still checking every room I went into in case she was there. I knew it was strange and I never told anyone. It felt like I lost a part of myself.
I used to spend my evenings with my mother but as I got busier with my future role, training and my duties. I left her alone.
Our family slowly drifted apart over time. Even though everyone saw us as perfect, I knew what happened behind closed doors. My mother had an affair. And when my dad found out he sent her away, into the dungeon at first so I tried every day to get my father to let her out. He started to whip her and I. His anger coming out in other ways.
This went on for a few years and scars littered my skin. The worst one adorning my neck from my fathers claws. I kept them covered. Always. So no one would ever see. It was too embarrassing that others could see their future king so weak.
But one day, I went to feed my mother. And as I got to her cell in the deepest and darkest parts of the dungeon. She was just... gone.
Days went by and we still haven't found my mother yet. So my father called back all the search teams and held a funeral. Anger settled in me but I was forced to stay silent. I wouldn't let myself cry at her grave. I wouldn't cry to an empty casket six feet below.
Again, everything was just a show to make my father look good. As our village mourned the loss of the queen, which was told her death was from a sickness- no one knew what the real story was.
My fathers physical abuse soon turned into emotional abuse. Before stopping all completely and then by 21, I forced myself to move on. I just never did completely. I still promised myself that I'd never use another girl to forget about her and without even trying I never needed to do that. Because without a doubt it was just always her in my head. She made every other woman in my life seem pointless to love.
But a constant reminder was my scars. My mothers 'death' date every year.
~~
Lia
Rules were easy. The first one being, I was never allowed to leave the house. Especially at night. A few times during the day sure, only when my father was with me or I was collecting fruit. I didn't wander very far from the cottage that my father built for us. I would tell him I was getting water but some days, in reality, I'd sit by the rocks and watch the fish swim. Maybe pick some flowers or rest in a tall oak tree to watch the sunrise.
Rule number two, I was to never go father than forests edge or past the creek. And that rule was hard.
I knew things... bad things were out there. But I was always just so curious. Many times I think about sneaking out to go explore but-
"Lia." My dad calls out. I look up and off the paper, scratchy notes written down in my horrid hand writing.
His snowy white beard trimmed against his jaw. He placed his aged hand over mine in a loving way, the wrinkles on his calloused hand showing his age, the many years of memories he has made.
"Father." I address back. These notes were killing me. Everyday I had to do four hours of school work. Dad taught me mathematics, many sciences, medicine, and writing skills. As well as art, which was my favorite. If we were lucky enough he rarely would build me a beige canvas out of tweed and pine, I'd paint with the red berries around the garden and brown I got from cinnamon. But that was only around my birthday. Painting was a luxury.
"You're daydreaming again my dear." He laughs but it quickly turns to a shaky cough. That's been happening too much lately. My dad was getting old and it worries me. I didn't know a life outside of this one, what would I do if he left me?
I knew my mother left when I was five, that's why its hard to remember her. So he kept me and moved out here to be closer to his work. Crap, I'm doing it again- thinking too hard and distracting myself to no end.
I shake my head and stand up. "I'm sorry. Can I be done for the day?" I plead with a soft smile. I hold his arm and help him to his feet, giving him his cane. He holds it in one hand and puts all weight against it. The floor creaks as he moves across the cluttered room.
I close my books and push in the chair to my work table. Standing up I take one last glance out the window. Sun was about to set.
I run up to his medicine table. "Are the stocks for this week almost done?" I ask, looking over his shoulder as he crushes some dehydrated bright green fruit into a power.
"Yes, I will be leaving tomorrow morning to head down north to the village where I'll be dropping off the medicines." He tells me screwing on the lid of a bottle, supplied to the brim with a remedy. His small glasses perched upon his nose as he concentrated on his task. The same thing he has been doing for more than 17 years. As long as I could remember.
I purse my lips together. It's silent as I watch him work, one question burning against my mouth tempting me to spill it.
"Can I come with?" I practically beg. I clasp my hands together in front of me and rock backwards on my heels.
I watch father let out a long sigh. "Lia-" He starts his usual rejection but I am quick to stop him.
"Yes dad, I know. It's treacherous and you've told me many times before these beasts in the village are nothing like us- nothing like me. I know it's dangerous but it's possibly more dangerous for you! They could take advantage of your age. I could protect you." I explain and start to pace back and fourth around his table.
"You calling me old dear?" He chuckles. I stop my pacing and look at him with sad eyes.
"No, dad. I'm calling you vulnerable." I sigh out and run a hand through my darkened hair. "You're sick."
"I'm not sick. It's just a small bug- I'll be fine before snowfall." He waves me off and bends back over his work table, straining his eyes and stitching cloth.
"Dad I'm serious. Let me go with. Please." I say this time straightening my back and staring him down.
He glances up at me. "Just like your mother, strong willed yet too innocent for this cruel world." He mumbles before continuing. "How about I think it over, meanwhile I need some more glowing berries and a cure-all dose of silver pears. Take the wicker basket and be back before the sun is hiding." He commands and I frown.
"Will do." I hum in annoyance.
I push my way out the door feeling truly angered. I knew I wasn't right, but I was mad at my dad. Why couldn't I go with? It would be beneficial for both of us.
I march my way down the hill and to the fruit trees still fuming. He's sickly and weak- I want to explore. I can take care of him on the journey and at the same time have my only chance at exploration. What's so bad about leaving?
I hike up my skirt and climb the tree. The wicker basket still slung over my arm. Leaning all my weight against a branch I pluck the ripe fruits off the tree. The silvery pears; father told me they worked perfectly for headaches and heartburn. These were his biggest profit.
Climbing higher into the tree to reach the riper fruits, I started to get a view. This tree was at least 30 feet tall.
I sighed quietly holding the pears to my chest. Mountains were the tips disappeared in the clouds, trees farther than the eye could see. I could catch sight of some of the village as I kept climbing. A tall battlement was seen, black flags dragged around in the wind. So small and far away my eyes squinted and strained.
I sat on a thick branch and rested my back against the tree. A cold breeze tickled my cheeks and made them red. It was getting cold- quickly too. Soon the leaves on this tree would hit the ground. The once muddy floor would turn white, covered in a blanket of fresh snow. That's when I'd really have to spend all my days inside. I hated the prison my house became over the years. My father being the jailer. If only I had something to do besides learn about medicine.
Suddenly, I jolt up right thinking of a perfect idea. I look down at the far creek and see no one. I raise an eye brow deep in thought, contemplating the forbidden idea.