Some might say it was justified, but most commoners would proclaim that my parents were insane—simple, bumbling idiots with wretched morals. After all, who would lock up their one and only daughter in a vermin infested and filth-ridden room for over ten years? What kind of people would do such a thing? There was no crime committed against the crown. No man was slain. No bread stolen either, albeit the least of these infractions. What lurks in the minds of some humans is not always normal; it is the antithesis of love and all good in life and it can destroy even the loveliest of souls.
From the age of seven, my strongest memory has been of my daily routine. Upon awakening each morning, I would count the rays of light that shown on the dingy southern wall. At least I thought it was the southern wall since the sun came in from my left as I shivered on the damp sodden floor. The blankets, my only semi-warm friends, were so thin from years of hugging them through the night; they seemed to beckon and soak up the warmth and happiness with me. The rays. They lit up the room and reminded me that darkness was overcome by light. In that moment each day, I regained hope after the dark night's passing. As always, bread, some sort of meat and maybe some cheese plus water would normally be shoved under the door at first light. This was my only meal of the day, and I regarded it as another sign of hope—food, so I did not starve. I had to be swift in scooping up the meager meal each day. My furry, gray roommates would take it away before me if I did not act quickly. Even though they knew I would share at the end of my meal, they were still animalistic in nature and felt compelled to steal what was mine. I loved them anyway. They were my only contact with life besides my own. Sadly, my parents had not spoken to me since the accident. My existence to them was too painful. My punishment for my transgressions was the room—day after day, month after month, year after year in what seemed like forever. My forever.
Suspended in time was how I felt. I could not remember what I had done to deserve such a consequence, but I do know it had something to do with my younger brother, Justinian. Quite often, even now, I see fuzzy pictures of him that come in flashes—his face with a look of horror coupled with dark shadows surrounding him. I am there too, looking on, helpless, and then….complete black. Nothing else. Each night, my mind relaxes as I sleep, and what I suspect to be the only key to unlock my detached memories of my brother comes through a perplexing and reoccurring dream. In this vision, I meander through the paths of Lumbridge looking for a child's wooden treasure box marked with a carved bronze horse design and the letter "J." My guide in the dream tells me it holds a secret scroll inscribed with the entire life of my brother intended to bring me peace, but I must seek the help of others to find it. In my dream quest each night, I am stopped by guards, or assaulted by gremlins. When I do ask for help from others, they simply ignore my conversation or become unusually quiet and remote. Other times, I am given wrong or dubious information that leads me on dangerous paths. I am lost—constantly. I do not understand this new dream world, how to maneuver it safely, or to find the lost treasure that is certain to unlock the mystery of my brother's demise.
Through a miraculous event so enormous that it must be saved for another chapter, I am no longer confined to the physical boundaries of solitary confinement. However, I continue to be imprisoned by the whisper of my brother, and the deafening unknown that dangles from my pierced and broken heart. Still, hope continues to envelope me with comfort as I continue my endless quest for truth and my justified exoneration.