Foreign Land

This is a foreign land.

I sit at the limits of Our world, spear set against my thigh, dug straight into the ground, a lone figure of defiance against the swirling mass of darkness that bars the way north. A lock of raven-dark hair falls before a blue gaze, unheeded, as I watch the heaving, churning ink-black image before me, searching, trying to understand, entranced. Here and there, I think I can see the ones I have loved and lost since I first arrived in Seahaven. My step-father appears before me, his hardened, scarred face full of affection for his "little girl"- once, twice, three times I start towards him, and three times he fluttered out of my hands like a shadow or a dream, and sorrow sharpens the heart within me.

"Come here, Cien", my stepfather says to me from my memory. He sits in his armchair by the fireplace, his hand held outwards to the little, sweet-natured girl dressed in pale blue and ribbons, all brightness. "Yes, papa?", I stumbled on little, uncertain legs, crossing the opulent lounge faithfully, like a puppy ready to play. My step-father was home from one of his trade missions, and my world was once again complete, for he had become the light in the centre of my life, and I his,"I have a present for you. Were you a good girl for your mother while I was away? You know how she gets upset when you disobey her". Yes, I knew. Now that her belly was swollen and her feet ached more with each passing day, I knew. "Always, papa", I respond as I crawl into his lap, his legs a insurmountable height but for his big hands that lift me safely, faithfully. "Good girl- now, close your eyes", he orders me. Ofcourse I do- what else should, or would I do? He holds my weight like a feather- his little song-bird, barely heavy enough to tip a scale, and I put my hands out, palms upward, my tiny mouth parted slightly in anticipation. Something is placed in my palms- heavy, cold, too big for me yet. I open my eyes. A little copper hairclip is there, patterned with spirals, its dainty curve reflecting the light of the fire. "It's too big for you now, song-bird, but one day soon enough you'll be able to wear it. Don't lose it now, before then, like your other", he chuckles, pushing a heavy lock of raven hair behind my ear. We sit on the armchair before the fireplace, and my talk is of an exuberant five-year-old's: about pretty dresses, and shopping trips, and my favourite dolls, all joy and light in what will become a dark world.

Here and now, my small hand touches that same clip which fastens my hair, fingernails tracing along the spirals. I remember. But now another image forms in the darkness: a face that mirrors my own, delicate, sweet, with ivory skin and blue eyes that remind me of deep water- my mother. I sit back, and look closer at her face, that men used to call beautiful. Beautiful, until you look closer, and see the vicious spark in her eyes, the coldness that hardens her delicate jawline, her wine-dark, curving lips that purse cruelly as she gazes back at me from the Otherworld.

"Where is he?", I shriek, combs and silk skirts and books hurling about the room in a rage at her, who stands calmly beside my bedroom door, gazing at my teenage self with a quiet amusement. There is a leather satchel beside her, resting against her skirts, and she smirks at me, a smirk I'd tear from her face if I could, "What have you done with him?", propelled by my blind fury. "That's quite enough, Cienwyn", my mother snaps, shoving the satchel into my hands, "I told you, he's dead. Gone. I have enough to worry about without a sulking brat ruining it for me now". I stand beside my bed, my satchel helplessly in my arms, as I stare at her. Then, vicious, I spit at her, "So what? Throw me out, mother, if you'd like- that's all you were after, weren't you? Tell me, did you only start fucking the Duke after I left, when you knew father or I wouldn't find out?". My cheek stings with a slap before my mothers taller form grasps my wrist, inexorably, her voice raising to a shriek, "Stupid girl- you don't even know who your father is", she taunts me, "Curse you- get out, Cienwyn- never come back here again, do you hear me? OUT".

I flee the House, that night the last I will ever see Her.