Sarralyn Salmalin slowly eased her tired muscles onto the chair in
front of her large looking-glass. Staring at herself in the
reflection, not many would know something was amiss. Her dark curls
shined, and didn't give the appearance of a sickly girl. Her bright
turquoise eyes seemed to dance in the light. Her nose, although
slightly larger than most, suited her face well. Sarra's dark skin
glowed, or was it the candlelight that made it look like that?
But really, underneath the façade, a whole other girl lived, ate, and
slept. She had a past, one that very few knew about. She was
definately her parent's child; both the Gift and wild magic coursed
through her veins. However, she hadn't always been Daine and Numair's
child. At least not when she was kidnapped at age 3. She still bore
reminders of her frightful experience that lasted a year.
Sarralyn never bathed in the baths with the other women, she was
afraid they might see her imperfections. Every day, Sarra thanked the
gods for rouge, for that was the substance that seemed to allow her to
continue er everyday life as if she had not lost a year of her 15 years.
She dunked a piece of cloth in a water-bowl, and squeezed out the
excess of water on the cloth. Sarra wiped off her wrists, and also
wiped off the rouge covering them. There they were. The skeleton in
the girl-mage's closet. The very thing that made her blood boil and
her heart scream. The chains that she had been bound in for a year had
left their mark. The scars were a painful reminder of how Sarra would
never be normal.
Looking back, Sarra wondered how things might have been different if
those chains had not been magicked, for the harder she had struggled,
the more they had cut into her tender skin. But the scars on her
wrists were not the only scars she had. As Sarra ran the cool cloth
along her neck, red marks appeared there also. They had kept her in a
collar, like a dog. Sarra knew she could shape-change, but she had
been forbidden to by her grandmother. That year was the worst of
Sarralyn's life. If only she could have used the power she had to free
her from that awful place.
But the scars weren't the only impact her year as a slave had on her
life. Now, Sarra had nearly no patience of any kind. She would snap at
servants to bring her things, and when they returned she would
apologize profoundly for her brash behavior. Sarra's dreams were
tormented with visions of her past, also. She would think of that room
filled with children from all walks of life, just waiting. Waiting to
be adopted, become a slave, or be killed. Most of them got the latter
treatment. Sarralyn was required to serve finger-fruits to delegates
from all around. It was astonishing to see foriegn diplomats enjoying
watching a 3 year old serving them. It was cruel child-abuse.
Sarralyn still remembers the day her Da rescued her. She figured that
after a year, Numair had given up hope of finding his only daughter.
But was she his only one anymore? So much could have happened in a
year. Sarra didn't recognize her Da when she first saw him. She was
carrying a silver tray filled with grapes for the men to enjoy. The
rags that served as Sarra's clothes were extremely bulky on her. As
she climbed up the steps to where the tall Mage was sitting, she
tripped over an excess of rags, and fell flat on the floor, the
contents of the tray spilling everywhere. The slave master yelled
words at her, and cracked his whip over her back, hard. Sarra bit her
lip hard, to keep from crying out, as she truly looked at the man she
was serving for the first time. Coal black hair, with bits of grey.
Soft brown eyes. Long, long legs.
Sarralyn wondered if the man was going to hit her for spilling grapes
on his robes, but when her turquoise eyes met his brown ones, he
gasped in shock. The slavemaster seized Sarra by the arms and started
to drag her away.
"Stop!" Numair had commanded, his kind eyes now flashing with anger.
He rose up from his chair, and swept to Sarra's bleeding side. The
slavemaster was enraged. He was insulted that anyone should stop him
from his 'business', and tried to pull Sarra away further. Numair
scooped up the fragile 4 year-old and held her in his arms.
The slavemaster yelled horrid words at Numair, but Sarra barely heard
them. She was too busy relishing in the warmth of her Da's body, his
comforting smell of incence and spices. In fact, the last thing she
truly remembered from that day was her Da whispering in her ear
"Everything will be fine, Sarra. You're finally coming home."
Now, 11 years later, Sarralyn still bore the scars. It was possible
for her to use magic to make them go away, but she felt as though that
would be forsaking the gods, to permanently altering her appearance.
Numair had never forgiven himself for not being able to find her, and
blamed himself every day. But Sarra knew he couldn't have. There were
over 200 powerful mages that had put spells over the place so worried
parents could not find their lost children.
As Sarralyn sat in her room, wiping off the last remnants of the
rouge, she never noticed the door opening and closing softly. She only
noticed anything different when she saw her father's face appear in
the looking-glass behind her. Numair bent down and gave Sarra a kiss
on the head. She turned around in her chair and threw her arms around
him. There was an unspoken agreement between them. Sarra would always
find her father for comforting, whenever she needed it. It was the
only way Numair could make up for that year that was lost.
Although Sarralyn had been born over 15 years ago, her age was much
different. If someone asked how old she was, she always replied "14."
Numair asked one day why she always lied about her age. Sarra's simple
reply was "I've been alive for 15 years, but I've only lived 14 of
them."
A/N: How was it? I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but I can make another chapter to go along with it to further explain how Sarra got there. R&R, please!
