Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Written: 2005 Found: 2017
They ran through the halls, laughing and giggling, their long, dark hair flying out behind them. The white dresses they wore were light and airy, making them seem like fairies.
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up; it was dark and silent, the only sound the wind outside. Silently, she climbed out of bed, making her way out of the room. The wood floors were cold, but she ignored them, continuing down the stairs until she got to the sitting area. A fire crackled in the grate, and after a moment, she moved towards it, stopping at the sight of a couple newspapers lying sprawled across the table. Snatching them up, she moved to sit beside the fire, and tilted the paper towards the light in order to read the heading.
COUNTRY OF FLIAAN SUCCUMBS TO REVOLUTION!
Fliaan? What was Fliaan? Where was Fliaan?
She had never heard of such a place. The only reason she knew she was in Munchkinland was because she'd been told by Mistress Morrible after the doctor finished examining her, not long after she'd awoken that night. The fire crackled and popped as she continued looking through the headlines.
REPORTS THAT SAMRAAT AND FAMILY SLAUGHTERED IN THEIR BEDS
Mass slaughter? Wherever this Fliaan was, she was glad not to be there. Even though she didn't know who she was or where she came from, or if she even had a family, at least she was safe in Munchkinland, and not trapped in a country going to destruction. At least Mistress Morrible kept a roof over her head and made sure she and the other orphans had something in their stomachs. Her gaze moved down to the smaller headlines.
DAUGHTERS OF SAMRAAT RUMORED TO HAVE ESCAPED SLAUGHTER
Beneath the headline, was a copy of a photograph. Four young girls stared out at her, all dressed in flowing white dresses, their dark hair pulled back and held with big white bows. The two oldest wore their hair up and out of their faces, while the two younger ones still wore their hair down; it tumbled down their shoulders in fountains of black, and on the outer edges of their eyes, were what appeared to be black smudges, but she couldn't tell for the newsprint.
The four daughters of Samraat Frexpar and Samrãjñī Melena, rumored to have escaped the slaughter of their family- Left to Right: Sophelia, Oziandra, Elphaba, Nessarose
Despite the grainy picture, they were very beautiful. And even though they were captured within a formal portrait, it was evident that the girls didn't look much older than her- perhaps the oldest was around eighteen or sixteen, and the youngest, most likely around ten or twelve. She couldn't imagine living in such luxury, only to have it taken away, and then having to flee-
"Fae?"
The girl looked up at the soft voice. Mistress Morrible stood over her, having slipped into the kitchen for a glass of water, and found the girl sitting by the fire, enraptured by the newspapers. The child dropped the papers at her feet.
"I'm sorry, Mistress Morrible-"
"No, it's quite all right, Fae. But shouldn't you be in bed? It is early, and you need your sleep, all children do."
"I couldn't." The woman nodded, helping the child up and taking her into the kitchen, where she fixed a meager cup of tea and set it before the girl at the table. The child had gathered the newspapers to her chest and now set them down on the table between them. She sipped her tea in silence, as Morrible looked over the articles, the doctor's words ringing in her head. It had been nearly four months since the child had arrived at her doorstep, and in that time, the doctor had come to a couple conclusions about the girl; conclusions that were shaky at best.
"Though she looks to be about ten years of age, I believe that she is closer to thirteen or fourteen. When I first examined her that night, I was surprised to discover how exceedingly thin she was- as though she had been held captive and starved for weeks or even months. She may appear to be the age of ten, but her development- even stunted- is closer to that of a young girl in the early years of puberty."
As Morrible sat across from the girl, she believed the doctor was right; though the girl was thin, she was slightly more developed than children of ten or even twelve years. She also seemed to possess an air about her that was tinged in fear, as though she'd lived through something she never wished to witness again.
"The markings around her eyes are just as mysterious now as they were that first night I examined them. They are clearly tattoos, but they are unlike any I have ever seen before. The Arjiki of the Vinkus tattoo themselves with diamonds of blue, not green, and they get nowhere near the eyes, for they believe the eyes are the windows to the soul, and to tattoo there would be to close those windows forever. No, these markings are evidently from some faraway land- perhaps the Quox or Ev, somewhere we have never dared explore. Perhaps they are even the markings of a people far across the mythical ocean, but we may never know."
"Do you think they survived?" Morrible looked up, wrenched out of her thoughts by the girl's question.
"I'm sorry, Fae, I didn't hear you. What did you ask?"
The girl nodded to the photograph of the Emperor's daughters. "Do you think they survived, like the reports say?"
Morrible turned her gaze to the photograph in the paper. Four innocent faces stared back at her, children who had grown up in the lap of absolute luxury, most likely now forced to live in squalor just to survive the very revolution that was said to have killed their parents and younger brother, Shell. But their survival- if any- would not be known until the revolution was over and things in Fliaan were back under control, whoever's control that would be, Emperor or common man.
"If they have survived, then the Unnamed God himself is keeping a very close eye on them."
