Disclaimer: this chapter involves the abuse, both physical and emotional, of a child with Asperger's Syndrome/on the Autism spectrum by a parent. The phrases, words, and names used by the parent, as well the mind set the parent has, is not one shared by the author. I tried my best to write what goes down with as much respect towards the subject as possible and to the best of my ability–if you are triggered or hurt by any of this, then I am deeply sorry as that was not my intention.
Part II- The Girl
All she saw from her window were the tops of the trees, yet she knew her lands were beautiful. It was second-hand information, of course, told by word-of-mouth, through pictures in her books, in the streams of ethereal images that the Lady Deshanna manifested from her hand, and, most importantly, because Papae told her so.
Indeed, the realm of Lavellan's held its own against the likes of Arlathan's hallowed halls. Cities of interwoven simmering summer stone and mighty birch tree palaces with their stunning onyx carved statues which breathed and danced in the street along lit orbs of pink and red, blue and green, gold and silver hues. It was a place of light, so bright the magic that it was impossible to find a single shadow. Holy; a sight to behold in the sunlight. In their infinite wisdom, the Kings and Queens of the realm came to the highest of all the mountains and with their own hands constructed one hundred temples of platinum and oak in the name of the Evanuris' above—engraved with their treasures, blessed with their own blood, the brilliance of their magic running through the veins and making the ornate stones unbreakable.
The Greatest of All Gifts it was called and the world knew it to be so. Arlathan may have been the center point of Elvhenan but Lavellan was the most faithful of its lands—the Evanuris' most obedient children.
She had never seen any of it. Not a glimpse of those spun spires crowned with runes of ice nor the clear crystal paths that burst with starlight at a single touch. Even the mountain, so beloved as it loomed across the realm, could only be recalled as a backdrop of a fleeting memory of a toddling babe wandering after her laughing parents, trying to catch their sounds in the palm of her hands. It was a pity that the only window she had faced away from the cities but it was just as well in the end. She preferred the vastness of the forest that enveloped her family's estate, its untamed magic whispering in the wind which played with her hair. Those cities, those temples; in them held people who observed her for too long, demanding something of her that she did not have with their hungry and curious eyes. It was not wise for her to be seen and, indeed, if she was, she would clap her hands over her eyes to hide from the terror their attention brought.
For you see, Eurydice had no heart in her chest, no brain in her head, no soul in her eyes; she had been broken in the mind from the day she came out of her mother's womb.
This is what Papae said and she believed his every word, for what else did she have?
"There is no fixing that one" she heard old nursemaids say to one another, long ago, when they thought she could not hear, "something isn't right in her mind, poor dear". Eurydice didn't understand what they meant—how can a head be 'right' or 'wrong'? Was there a hole at the top of her skull that she could not see which needed to be patched like one patched a torn blanket? At night she used to search her head in a mirror and ask Melia to stand on their bed and look to see where in the nest of her hair this 'broken' part might be but never did they find such a wound or crack.
Despite it all, Eurydice never felt as though there might have been something 'wrong' with her—and she wondered to herself sometimes why it mattered if there was.
Even still, it gave her Papae such endless grief and though he erupted into a thrashing, violent rage whenever he caught the nursemaids whispering, it was Eurydice whom he treated with the greatest of hostility—shaking her about, telling her to smile, smile, smile, grabbing at her hands when she tried to cover her ears, forcing her body straight and still, slapping her when her eyes went up and down and nowhere, always touching her. In his determined way, he was going to fix what he saw as her flaws, her cruel disobedience, for what child would be so hateful as to bring him such shame every day? Truly, her dullness must be rebellion or a quirk to stomp out. "They are wrong," he snarled with his shining teeth exposed, "I will make sure of it". He'd have no more of the jeering by his subjects or royal peers, no more of these rumors of the Prince's ill first born.
Thus, he stole her from her and her sister's cozy chambers and brought her to the single room of the east tower with only the one window and the one locked door, with the lonely bed and the bookcase with the books she had already read, with the chairs that were much too big for her little form and yet she dragged it across the floor every day so she could look out into the world and float off to somewhere that most would tell her did not exist.
This tower was where she would be 'fixed', Papae told her, the place where he would hide his heartless thing. Every day he would come along with his ivory key twirled around his finger and every day he would look upon her with narrowed eyes—and every day she would ask him if he wanted to watch the forest with her.
"No," He'd sneer and would yank her away by the collar of her dress, "Away from there lest someone see you."
Eurydice would get down from her chair and then she would ask, "May I leave soon? I want to leave this room."
And he would say, every time, with a long frown on his face, "When you are no longer a heartless thing, the door will be unlocked and you may go where you please."
How does one stop being 'heartless'? How does one become 'right'? Once she asked these questions to him as well but what came of it was the flashing of his violet eyes and she knew what followed after was always, always a smack across the face and a scream in her ears about how disrespectful she was. Eurydice stopped asking.
Not all his visits were unkind. Sometimes Papae came with her favored treats in a basket and stories to tell her. Sometimes, he would take her by the hand, ignoring the way she flinched and fidgeted away, and tell her how special she was—a child with the golden blood of her great-grandfather King and the pure green blood of her mother, born of a legendary hero whose arrows and lips were kissed by Andruil—that she must live up to her noble lineage, to her position as his eldest child, his inheritor, his destined little High Keeper, his pride and joy. Sometimes he would tell her how Melia wished for her to return or how Nike got into trouble with their nursemaids or how much her newest brothers, Izark and Ion, were learning day by day. Never did he mention Mamae and Eurydice did not ask, for she knew Mamae did not miss her much if she even noticed she was gone at all.
In these moments, he would smile at her and would speak to her in a soft honeyed voice and the little one would be content, for the Papae she loved most—the Papae of her smaller years when there was nothing yet 'broken' about her—would be in the room with her.
But sometimes was not all the time and more often than not, the Papae which visited her tower was the one who seemed to barely be able to stand in the same room as her and who found fault in her voice, her eyes, her body, her very movements, even the way her breath caught in her throat. From across the room, he would berate her for things she could not help doing or did not realize was so offensive; once or twice he would bite out his reprimands and when that did not work, he would screech and curse at her for her willful refusal.
Then, he would seize her and she learned to go limp when he did.
There were times she would do her best to please him and then, more often, there were times when she would just…stop and go someplace quiet, where the ringing wasn't in her ears hurting her, somewhere she was safe even if her physical body wasn't.
Eventually, Papae would take his leave of the tower and Eurydice would wait until below her feet she felt the vibrations of the slamming door before she jumped off her chair. With cautious hands, she would take hold of the fine silver handle and pull the door but it would not ever budge, only whining in protest at her insistence, and so the girl would accept once again that her head was still not 'right' and that her chest was still so very empty.
And there she stayed and there she awoke, alone, from day to day to day…
…to this day, where she sat by her window with her fingers combing through strands of unkempt hair and bounced her little legs over and over—and there, in the belly of her tower, did she hear the large iron door yawning open and two voices bumping over one another in a hush, incoherent tone. Her eyes stopped searching the empty blue of the sky but she did not turn as the familiar jiggling ankle bracelets and the clank of a staff against the staircase filled the hollow keep like a song.
Her hands dropped from her hair and she waited, head buzzing and fingers itching and curling at the hem of her dress. It was one of the special days today. The day when she saw her only other visitor; her Ghilan.
The voices came closer, hissing at each other harshly. Slowly, the old clink of the latch lifting came and the door was opened, but only the Lady Deshanna entered. For the first few lessons, Papae slithered in and stood against the wall with his arms crossed, his pointed gaze crawling across the child's skin as if trying to find the shim to peel it off, but the Lady soon commanded that he leave—a Prince he may be, but she was a High Keeper and she would not have him scrutinizing her work, putting her to task just as he put the girl. Papae sneered at her but he obeyed; now he lingered out in the hall, impatiently pacing back and forth as a dog waiting for its game would.
"Aneth ara, da'lan."
The Lady shut the door behind her as she shook her pitched black hair free of her hood and gave her a gentle wave in greeting. Eurydice did not return it. Silently, she jumped down from her chair and grabbed it by two of its legs, heaving it back towards the center of the room where another chair resigned. Leaning her staff against the back of it and shedding her long sapphire cloak, the Lady fell into her seat with a heavy sigh.
"That father of yours; spoiled princeling he is…" She muttered under her breath, her jeweled, golden brown hands pushing her hair out of her face, her expression knotted up as she sent an aggravated look at the doorway. She wasn't speaking to the child so much as at her, as people normally did as if she was a walking journal—existing only to have words put upon but never thinking or holding an opinion on their meanings. The Lady watched as Eurydice climbed onto her chair and settled into it with a fidget, her dull violet eyes set on the embroidered golden rivers that ran down the High Keeper's skirt.
The Lady took her time examining the girl before she spoke in a silvery voice, "You are looking well. Your Father frets about your sickness for nothing once more, I see."
Eurydice did not answer.
"…but never you mind that, da'lan. He is a restless man as he has always been; no changing that. Now, tell me, have you been practicing your magic since our last meeting?"
Eurydice's eyes darted from the threaded yellow river to the window, aching to look out it again. Her hands found their way to the front of her dress and curled them in the fabric. "No." She answered.
The Lady's lips turned into a thin line but whatever harsh scolding she might have stayed in her mouth. It was not the first nor was it expected to be the last time the girl ignored her lessons. Specifically ignored them as it was not a lack of talent or knowledge that hindered her from doing so; Eurydice simply didn't want to or, rather, felt no reason to do so.
"…I see…" She finally said after a long pause, "but you remember what I told you?"
This time Eurydice peeked up at her through her eyelashes and she nodded stiffly. "Yes."
"Tell me, then." The Lady Deshanna lifted her hand up between them and let the magic flare up out of her bones and capture her palm in a wisp of crackling cool fire. The gesture stirred the girl; with her lips parted, Eurydice untangled one of her own hands from her dress and held it up next to her Ghilan's. Life against the lifeless. Dark brilliance to white nothing. The fire ghosted over her skin, harmless and soft as a feather.
"…Magic is not a blessing nor a gift. It does not pick from the worthy nor the unworthy, the sinners and the virtuous, noble or mud blooded. It is not the beat of your heart or the breath from your throat. Magic is old, older than the Evanuris, the God of the Gods," in her listless voice the child spoke, her fingers flexing, and then a small spark of blue jolted from her middle finger, "—and it is I, the whole of my soul, the sum of my parts—
Out from the spark came a current that flickered and jolted from finger to finger, wrapping her tips in bolts of intense white. The magic keened, popping in its indirection, blinded by her growing confusion at the wild nature that she had captured her hand.
The Lady was smiling, "Yes…that is it. You have it…" Her hands reached from Eurydice's, her intention to guide the magic into a more stable form, but as her fingers brushed the child's skin, the currents died and the child was shrinking back in her chair.
"No." Eurydice said as she cradled her hand against her chest, "I do not like it."
The Lady slid her hands away quickly and put them up for the girl to see. "I know…I know…" She sighed. Last visit they had gotten farther with the girl's lessons; it had taken all of an hour but she managed to coax her into performing a small display of lightning that had struck the ceiling and painted the room in a hue of vibrate colors. Eurydice, who approached magic with stubborn and strange resistance despite her talent for it, had even asked to perform it once more but as she was small and so very inept, Deshanna had advised against it. It had been her hope, however slim, that her return would prompt the girl into wishing to learn a little more but as she looked at her now, Eurydice's knees drawn up on the chair and her head bowed, she knew something had been undone.
There was creak calling from the doorway—a step being taken at the threshold. The Lady noticed how Eurydice's eyes flickered at it and her small body seemed to harden into a protective shell.
A bitter, nasty taste welled up and washed over her tongue and the Lady scowled, but whatever curses she may have wanted to shout at the door were quilled. It…was not her place to speak here, not in a prince's home or of a prince's child, even if that child was her chosen First.
"It…" She swallowed and then spoke, "It was a commendable first attempt. It would have been wiser to leave you be, I see now. Later, if you are willing, we can try again." A hand raised to touch the top of the child's head but the Lady stilled it, thinking better of it. Instead, she let it drop to her lap and bent her head as to maybe catch Eurydice's eye or, at the least, let her see there was no anger on her face. "Perhaps we will do something you favor. Tell me, da'lan, what do you want?"
There was a sliver of uneasy movement before Eurydice lifted her head up and regarded her with some interest. Soundlessly she slipped off the chair as if she were water from a spilling cup and walked round to the other side of the Lady where her staff rested. Gingerly she took it into her hand and felt the hum of her Ghilan's magic against her fingers from within the dahl'amythal wood. It smelled pretty, like ashes, smoke, like Prophet's Laurel burning at the hearth of Mythal. At its top sat the channeling stone, a powerful malachite cut into a rigid beacon, the black of it waving about as if it was a crystal ball filled with murky water, which made the whole thing a struggle for her to pick up and hold upright, her feet stumbling as she turned it horizontal in her hands.
She walked in front of the Lady and held the staff out to her, "I want you to tell me of Ghilan'nain again. Ghilan'nain and her halla." It almost sounded like a plea coming out of her. Of all the lessons, all the histories, the origins, the spells, the myths, it was only ever the stories of hallas and harts, of Ghilan'nain in her splendid form gallivanting through the forest, marking the way with her hoof prints and her call for weary travelers, that Eurydice asked for. It was her favorite, the only thing that set her dim violet eyes alight and the Lady Deshanna had no reason to deny her, for the rare smile she received was a precious secret indeed.
"As you wish," said the Lady, beaming from ear to ear as she took her staff and banged it twice against the floor. From the bottom emerged a swarm of wisping green air which tangled and twirled and morphed into shapes of halla, some hulking, some babes at the mother's side, some with horns adorned with leaves, others with shattered horns, always proud as they strode through the small circular room, hopping about across the child's wild eyes.
Ghilan'nain came together in a cloud of streaming sunlight as if she had poured down from the sky itself, her eyes a green that could never be imagined nor described, her horns and fur woven with flowers and fruits, and she was the largest of them all, majestic in her endlessness. Though this ghost of a God could never compare to that of the real thing, the two elves nevertheless bowed their heads in worship—and the image bowed hers when Eurydice came near on the tips of her toes, reaching for the head that wasn't there, burying fingers in the short strands she couldn't feel, making a pleased noise when Ghilan'nain nuzzled her transparent nose into her face.
While Eurydice put her hands on these illusions and ran along with the young ones as if they were in a wide-open field covered in wheat and long grass, the Lady Deshanna was content to recline back and weave for her amusement and education tales of the wondrous Evanuris who had been like them once upon a time: mortal, young, rotting away in the shell that was her short-lived body. In these small pockets of time, Eurydice was her happiest. In the Lady's tales, there were no towers to confide her, no 'right' or 'wrong' to be, no heartless girls, or prying eyes of courtiers who laughed behind their hands. There was no creaking behind the door or a lock to be turned. It was only the forest and the halla and a goddess and her. Happy, free, and awed enough to sometimes go to her Ghilan's side and ask her if she may rest her head on her lap as she told her things and because her Ghilan was kind, she would let her do so, and Eurydice could ramble on about what she knew and regurgitate her own stories with its own twists.
And the world, as tiny as it could be, was right for once.
Then Papae opened the door.
The magic spun to smoke and evaporated as he marched in with lips in a tight line as if the very air in the room put a sour taste in his mouth. He ignored the Lady regarding him with a critical eye as he sought out his child. He found her, much to his displeasure, at the foot of her bed on her knees with the blanket over her head as she groped around underneath it.
"Eurydice!" He barked and she stiffened instantly, "What are you doing under there?"
The child shifted and cupped one of her ears as she pulled the blanket from her head. "Halla…I am looking for the halla."
Papae scoffed at her explanation but as he opened his mouth, the Lady Deshanna stood from her chair as she put her cloak over her shoulders and spoke, "That was my doing, my Prince. My story got out of hand and the da'lan was simply calling my puppets from their hiding place."
"She had you straying from her lessons again, is what you mean to say. You were to teach her control, High Keeper, not give in to her whims." He retorted, then turned his attention back to Eurydice, "Insolent thing, I told you to heed the Lady, did I not? You distracted her again and wasted her time with your nonsense."
Eurydice stood up and fisted a handful of hair, pulling at it over and over. Her eyes looked off to the window.
There was the gruff sound, a growl at the back of his throat, as he shouted, "Eurydice! Look at me when I speak to you!"
The child did so only for a second and only because he had startled her so—but in the next she was flinching away and grabbing at her poor ears, her eyes shutting tight. 'No more yelling', she wanted to say but her mouth would not move, 'it hurts when you yell'.
There was the hush of fabric as the Lady Deshanna stepped between the two; her staff a protective wall she placed in front of the girl. "Hold your tongue, my Prince. The stories I tell of Ghilan'nain and the Halla are no such nonsense. They are our history and if da'lan wishes to hear of it before her other histories, why should I not teach it? You well know this, having been taught the same lessons—"
Papae sniffed indignantly.
"—and learned how important these stories can be. Eurydice…" The Lady's voice lost its edge as she said the girl's name and it wavered, "…may have not performed a complete spell, but her magic is strong and she is a clever one. In fact, this room…" she gestured around them, "it might hinder her power. It would be best to allow me to take her outside, perhaps to the river valley, where she can extend her reach with less trouble and see the places I speak of in her—"
"No," came Papae's answer, "Eurydice is still very ill, High Keeper. The risk to her health and constitution is too high should she wander out there. She stays where she is safest."
"Prince Lycus, please, I implore you to think—"
"I said no. My answer will not change." He bit out, his eyes flashing at the Lady threateningly, "You speak out of turn in my house; all I ever think about is my child".
If there had been a speck of hope in the child that he would listen to the Keeper, it certainly fell dead right there at her feet. The Lady's fists clenched around her staff, her knuckles straining white, but if she meant to attack with words or a spell, it never came. Her shoulders gave way underneath her dense cloak and she spared maybe a fleeting look at the girl, though Eurydice would have never understood it as pity.
"…as you say, my Prince. Forgive my impudence. It was from a good place." She exhaled, "I shall take my leave."
Papae nodded and moved aside to let the Lady pass but as she began to pick up the folds of her skirt and walk, she paused and patted her sides. "Oh, wait. Where is my mind at this day?" She said as she turned to Eurydice and bent to her height, "I had meant to give you something, da'lan. What a forgetful old creature your Ghilan is becoming."
Eurydice gave her no response but her ears fluttered up curiously as the Lady reached into her cloak and fished around in the pouch at her side. From it, she presented a white wooded halla which was no bigger than her hand and whose glittering eyes were cut from a veil quartz. A little startled sound came out of the girl, her eyes wide and though she did not smile, she flapped her hands and twisted them about, looking between the toy and the Lady for permission to touch it.
The Lady Deshanna beamed from ear to ear at her, "Is it not lovely? I thought it best for you to have one to play with—at least until you can make your own herd to gallivant around your room…unless, of course, your father believes this, too, is a risk to your health." She added with a side glance at Papae, daring him to deny her.
But save for a low grunt, he said nothing. Eurydice marveled at the toy with bated breath but she hesitated in taking it. "Can I hold it?" She asked, shifting on her feet from right to left.
"Of course, da'lan."
Delicately Eurydice took it with both her hands in the same manner someone took hold of a holy artifact and held up to her face. It was beautiful. Though there was no life in it, she held it as if there was warmth underneath the fur and looked at it as if it could breathe, and she fancied that if she let it go, it might jump right out of her hands and to the window. And she would chase after it if it did, right down to the forest, and if her father came running after her, she wouldn't turn back.
Ah, no; but that was a bad thought, yes? Very bad.
As if he could read her thoughts, Papae spoke up "Do not be an ungrateful thing, Eurydice. Give proper thanks to the Lady."
She blinked at the Lady's smiling mouth and said, "Ma serannas."
The tender smile stretched farther, "My time is well-spent" and her hand moved toward the top of Eurydice's head but she hesitated again and then withdrew it back into her cloak. Pleased with herself, she pulled herself up with staff and gave a nod to Papae. He returned it, if only because she was due it, and then motioned for her to go through the door. If there was anything said of a goodbye, Eurydice did not hear it.
As the door shut behind the two, the girl was already turning on her heel and pushing her chair with the one hand back to her beloved window, the other tenderly cradling the halla to her chest as if it were her babe. Underneath her feet came the vibrations of the two voices warring, echoing through the stone and hollowed tree walls as they clattered down to the outside world; whatever was said was lost on her ears, though. Eurydice mounted her chair and placed the halla on the window pane, positioned ever so slightly so its head could see out over her forest.
"Hello." She greeted it, her fingers excitedly combing and knotting through her hair as she sat on her heels and leaned out over the pane. "It is nice to meet you. Do you want to see my forest?" Whether it answered her or not, it did not matter—she spoke to it anyway. About the trees, the larks that sang on her roof, about the clouds that visited, the spirits that danced on the forest floor when the stars were high, about the sound of the river and where the halla would find the best of the shade. She asked it where it would go on its travels and if it would take her there. And she was happy, in her own way, because in this place of only her, she finally had something that wanted to be by her side.
This was the reason she did not check the door as she usually did. Not until the sky was smearing from blue to purple and the moons were taking their high thrones in the sky, full and bright. She was resting her head on the window's frame, skimming the halla's engraved features with her nail when the orbs hanging from her ceiling began to light and a whiff of roasted ram filled the room. Every morning, every mid-day, and every evening a full meal would appear on her table by way of a spell and an hour later the same spell would come along and steal away her scraps. She didn't know who or what made them but just as everything else it was expected that Papae had a hand in it, having occasionally returned abruptly to scold her for not eating enough or even at all. Whoever cooked the meals, in her opinion, had a lack of taste—she'd much rather a plate of peaches and berries than the over spiced and overdone meats she was required to eat.
Eurydice wrinkled her nose as she languidly lifted her head and slid down her chair with her toy in hand. As she approached the meal, that is when she saw it. A sliver of light across the floor from the crack in the door.
The crack—because the door was open.
She stopped breathing. She didn't believe it was real at first. A trick from her head, maybe. She crouched next to it and stared at it, then smacked the ground where it fell to see if it would disappear. It stayed, casting across her hand when she raised it up and turned it around.
It was real.
And the door. It was still open.
Scrambling to her feet, the girl ran to the door and gripped the handle with both hands. Taking a few deep breaths, she pulled and prepared herself for the door's resistance, the cry of the lock protesting, and the knowledge that she was wrong once again and still very 'wrong' in the head.
Instead, the door came forward with a heavy groan and the light from the hallways orbs flooded in, bathing her in white—bathing her in freedom.
Eurydice wavered with her hand on the doorway, the halla falling deafly from her grasp, and with uncertain wide eyes she stared down the lit corridor and the stairs she hadn't walked down in over six passing seasons. It was daunting to make heads or tails of it, that the door was unlocked and she was free to go. That Papae, for whatever reason, had decided this day she had succeeded in her task to 'fix' herself.
No longer was she a 'heartless thing'.
Carefully, she put her hand over her chest and—when she felt the beat of her heart against her palm, sure that it was there and she was 'right'—she took a wary step over the threshold. The second step followed after, gentle on the floor as if it was delicate glass ready to crack. The third step came and confidently she was sure she wouldn't be dragged back into the room. The fourth was her victory and she celebrated by fleeing down the staircase without a single thought in her head and flinging the heavy iron door of the tower open, releasing her into the world as it was shaded over by night's touch.
The forest air hailed her in a crisp embrace which breezed through her hair and her dress, raising goose bumps across her skin. The child opened her mouth and inhaled a mouthful, and though it made her shiver down to her bare toes, it had been the most refreshing thing she had ever imagined—for all she had for so long was the stale, warm tower air with its dust and its stony taste. The mud and grass, too, felt so good under her feet. It tickled and then itched as she dug her toes in and felt the cool, soft earth between them. The feeling of it so wondrous to her that she bent down and pushed her hands in as well and ripped out two ample handfuls of soil and plant which escaped through her fingers.
She hummed, squeezing it until it all fell through unto her dress and back to the ground, and if she had thought of it, she might have stopped herself from dirtying herself as she did. Papae would not be pleased if he saw her caked in earth but she didn't care, for it just felt so nice to be something other than clean, something other than still, something other than cut off from the place she had yearned for so long to be part of.
Rubbing her filthy hands together, Eurydice walked to the line where the forest began and with more ease than when she left her room, crossed it and walked further into it with only the white of the glowing full moons to guide her. As she listened to the whispers of the spirits and birds around her, she looked up over her head and saw something red gleaming at her. Apples; fresh and perfectly round. Though not her favorite of fruits, it had been a long time since she had had one picked new from a tree and suddenly she craved the taste more than she craved the wonder around her.
She remembered her manners first, of course. Putting her hands on her knees, Eurydice bowed her head and her body in respect of the tree, just as the Lady Deshanna had taught her, and she did not dare to lift her eyes until she heard the wood groaning. There—as all trees of their land did because they were older still and held their own magic—it was returning her bow with its own, the elegant branches gilded in bright green leaves hanging low to offer her one of its fruits. Eurydice stood on the tips of her toes and took it, amazed at just how vividly red it was, and then bowed her head again in thanks. The old creature rattled its full head at her as it straightened itself once more and then it quieted, falling to earthly slumber once more.
Eurydice licked her lips as she rubbed the apple on her skirt and opened her mouth to take a bite, but as she did, she saw something rustling in the brush some feet away from her.
Big. That's what she first thought when the wolf emerged. Big and that it was dying.
Or, perhaps, dying wasn't quite the right word; it was an ancient, mangy creature, its once shining proud black pelt now matted, grayed, patchy from the battles it must have seen. It stood not with the fluid stride of its kind but with a limp, its weight too much for its old legs, and with its half sliced tail dragging behind it as a burden would. It was shabby, broken, half-starved, better off dead and skinned by someone's standards.
But Eurydice found no quims with it and maybe because, in its injured way, it reminded her of herself. 'Don't worry', she wanted to say, 'no one quite likes me either'. It huffed and shook itself, and from its fur came a dozen or so startled flies.
It peered at her with eyes of a storm—gray and destructive—and she did the same, knowing it must be taking her meager appearance apart as well. It licked its lips when it saw her apple, so Eurydice brought the fruit to her mouth and took a giant chump out of it but did not chew it. Rather, she dropped the bitten piece into her hand and showed it to the wolf, then she tossed it to its feet. The creature didn't move at first, regarding her with those intense but wounded eyes, but then it bent low and ate the piece up ravenously.
Eurydice waited, then she took another bite and threw that piece to the wolf too.
And she did it again.
And again.
And again.
Until her jaw hurt from how hard she would rip at the apple and she decided better of it. The wolf lapped at the sweetness across its yellow teeth, its back less tense and its tail even slightly wagging like a domestic pup. Eurydice took that to mean it had given her a little of its trust so gingerly she took a few steps toward it and when it did not growl nor run off, she took a few more. She offered the rest of the apple to the poor creature, dropping it at its feet, and watched with interest as it tore at the thing and snapped the core in half.
It made what she assumed was a happy sound and tapped her heel into the dirt, twirling her fingers in her hair. "Can I touch you?" She asked and if someone had been with her, they might have told her she was silly, that this pathetic creature could not comprehend her words.
But it raised its glaze with the sort of grace she had once seen her great-grandfather, the only time she had been in his presence, as he stood at his throne and had allowed a lowly subject to speak. Then, as she reached out, he sniffed and touched his nose to her palm and waited patiently for her stroke his fur.
For the one second she did, she mused at how soft it was.
"Eurydice!"
The wolf was gone, out of her reach and into the woods, and behind her, Papae was screaming—and she didn't understand why. She saw him tearing through the trees and brush frantically, his hair usually so neatly done in a single long plait wild around his head, his face twisted up and his eyes wide. It would have been a braver child, or one who understood the madness in his voice, who would have hidden when she saw him but Eurydice was only a bewildered child and so she let him see her.
She shouldn't have, she realized too late, because for an instant she saw his eyes and all that was in them was a black, dripping hatred.
"You—you wretched stupid—thing!" He howled as he stalked closer to her; a shadow looming over hers, threatening to devour her whole. "Why are you out here?!"
It hurt. It hurt so much. Eurydice's ears rang from the wrath in his voice. "I-I, the wolf—" She tried to explain in her small, fragile voice but it could not withstand that of Papae's as he bellowed at her, "Shut up! Fenedhis; if someone had seen you! Do you not listen?! Are you deaf as well as brainless?!"
Desperately she wanted to clap her hands over her ears and shut him out but Papae had grabbed her wrist and was painfully yanking her to him, his voice throbbing through her head. He was saying how much of a shame she was, that she was disobeying him again, he was going to lock her up tighter this time. No more with the Lady Deshanna, she was making her rebellious—back, heartless thing, back where no one will see you, back in the tower where you belong—
"NO!"
The scream that erupted out of her didn't sound like her voice; stronger, better, more powerful than the little tweet she would make. Perhaps it wasn't her at all but the magic within her that had ignited the walls of its prison alight and was filling her veins with flames and with fury, promising that if she held onto it any more, if she gulped it down and let it lay in the pit of her stomach, it would explode and tear them all asunder. And so she screamed and from the blood pumping under her skin came the rupture of electricity that keened at the heavens and whipped Papae away.
One could not imagine the power in her hand at that moment—that for once in her life, it was she who held a dangerous hand, glowing with untamed currents of blue and white, and he was the one stumbling back and holding himself.
She, the one in control, and he, the one in pain.
Then, she couldn't hold onto it and she yielded. The magic fizzled out and she was left as she was; weak and vulnerable. Despite herself, she risked a look into her Papae's eyes and all that was there was the monster that had always been inside him, waiting for the day it would break out and end her.
For the first time in her life, Eurydice turned on her heel and ran from her father.
Deeper and darker the forest became around her and she tried to keep up with it, but as she fled him she would trip over roots in the ground and smack into trees. The moons, as kind as they was, could not reach her as the trees became denser and deeper; and maybe if the spirits had a true taste for mortal children, they might have opened a tree and hid her in its belly, sending her father on a misbegotten path where he would get lost and never find her but unluckily they only watched, apart from it all as they always were.
Voiceless and pleading, Eurydice reached out into the darkness and she prayed: Ghilan'nain guide me somewhere safe!
If the Goddess heard her tiny cry in the midst of all the world's demands, it mattered not.
Papae snatched her by the hair and yanked her back across the forest floor, kicking and flailing. He twisted her around and then he took that beautiful sword he always kept at his side and he plunged it into her chest. He withdrew it and shoved her to the ground, and then he kept stabbing her, over and over, and every single one was another 'yes' to the question she had never thought to ask but always wondered in the back of her mind:
Do you hate me, Papae?
Yes .
Her tiny hands tried to fight him, if one were to give her some last shred of dignity in this world. Slippery with her blood, she clawed at his hand in an attempt to get him away or stop or at least slow the pain down. But Papae was a skilled hunter, the valiant Prince and Pride of the King's Game, and he was stronger than her in every way. So what could she do? Only the smallest of sounds came from her gurgled throat as the child stared up beyond her Papae, at the moons through the branches, and her hands lost their strength and soon there was no pain, no warmth, no fear, no weight over her body, smashing her deeper into the ground.
Only a cool numbness worming its way through her. That and a growl that made her feel one last shard of comfort.
Vaguely, she felt Papae's body lift off of hers and knew he was leaving, that the sword coated with her blood was going with him, that it was over and he was gone. Something came overhead and pressed against her face. Wet. A tongue. It was soft. Fur.
It whimpered and it whined and she saw beautiful gray eyes.
The wolf.
"…a..h…ha…" What was she trying to say? Neither her mind nor her mouth could form words, only the most pitiful of shattered sounds. Still, she made them as the wolf lowered its head and brushed its face against hers. So soft. She wished she had more time to feel it. It would have been nice. She moved her head into the wolf's warmth with last of her life.
She stopped breathing.
The wolf nudged the lifeless body with its nose and licked her face rapidly in its attempt to rouse her, but nothing came of it. It peered at her with the most sorrowful of eyes and to the sky it sent the most mournful of howls, so loud and so anguished that even the spirits hushed and the wind came to a halt. No sounds existed within this darken realm, save for one; the crunch of twigs breaking under hooves and with it came a soft, dreamy bright light that broke past the tangled trees and vines. The wolf acknowledged it with a flicker of its ear before it dashed off the tiny corpse and scampered into the shadows, watching with a glowing glare as out from the woods came two halla. One was a small, ordinary halla with the glimmer white horns while the other was hulking and burst with a yellow light from within its chest as if its very heart was the sun itself and it had seen fit that this place would be the best place for a walk. Its horns were not graced with flowers or leaves, no gold or silver was painted on its flank, and its eyes were not the green hue of legend but white and sightless and across them was a long rigid scar that the halla displayed as proudly as any crown on a queen's head.
It took a step and from its hooves sprouted flowers. It took another and there instead came a foot with rich, dark skin. The fur, the horns, they melted away to reveal a gorgeous woman wrapped in a simple linen dress and with hair the feathered gold of halla's horns. Still across her unseeing eyes was that pink scar and still from her heart there was the glow of the sun. The lady's companion strode in front of her and kneeled next to the little girl's corpse, its head pressing against her slowly growing colder cheek. Scratching the halla's ears, the woman joined her on the ground and gently brushed a sticky strand of hair from her face.
"Poor thing…" She cooed and her voice rang like temple chimes. "What a fate…what a fate, to be treated such as this. You should have called me sooner, little princess. Hush now," She said as if the corpse could protest, "I shall make it right."
With great care the woman cradled the girl's head in her hands and opened her slightly agape mouth wider—she opened her own and breathed into the girl's lungs a green mist. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the child's chest rose and then it fell, and the blood from her body started to fade, and the wounds across her poor abused body began to seal themselves. Dipping her finger in the vanishing blood, the woman drew on the child's face a patterned of slender and ornate lines; curved pink horns of a halla wrapped in leaves.
But not all the wounds disappeared. In her chest, over her heart, was a gaping hole that once gushed with hot blood but was now drying and in its place the skin cracked as if it were all made of clay that has been bashed in. Into that hole the smiling woman put her hand and took from it a dead, crumbling mound of hardened flesh—the child's heart, no longer thumping with life and split down the middle by her Papae's sword.
"Ah, what damage he has done to you, little princess. I cannot fix this." She said mournfully and tsked.
There was slight movement as the halla rested its head on the girl's arm; her eyelids fluttered open slowly and under her white lashes were her violet eyes surrounded by black rather than white. The child looked around her, her limbs feeling as though if she tried to move even one, they would snap off her body like that of a doll's. Still, when she saw her heart in the woman's hand, she managed to extend her arm and try to touch the useless thing.
"…give…gi…ve it to me…" She croaked, "I…have to show it to Papae…I have to show him…"
She touched it and the weight of that was simply too much for the fragile mound to take. Her heart collapsed into a pile of red dust in the woman's hand and with it so did all of Eurydice's memories, her past, her future, her soul, until there was nothing left inside her save for her name echoing in her ear—and even that she did not truly understand at first.
"That was bound to happen, I suppose…better you than he or I." The woman sighed as she reached into her dress' pocket and took out a small pouch. Opening it she slipped the heart's remains inside, allowing not one fragment to escape.
From the darkness, the quiet voice of a man spoke, "What are you doing, Ghilan'nain?"
The woman inclined her head toward the sound and said, "Answering the call of my name and saving Falon'Din a depressing trip to the Beyond. You understand; he does not enjoy the task of guiding young ones. Too many questions, no right answers to give."
"…and what do you plan to do with her? Make her your child?"
"Perhaps. I have always desired one. What would you have me do? Leave her to fester and decay on these roots? No, I think not. I am not as cruel as you." She tied a string around the pouch tightly and began to rose, her halla following after her. Eurydice stayed and stared at the red dust on her fingers.
There was a tense silence and then the voice asked, "…why didn't you save her?"
"Why didn't you?"
Again there was silence.
"In the end, the life that mortal ended would have never lasted long. I give her new life now; I want to see what she does with it." The woman told the darkness and then to the girl, "Up on your feet now, da'lan. I have turned the wheel of fate anew and I will not have it wasted. Up, I say."
Eurydice regarded her with her listless eyes and stiffly did as she was told. She stood with no torment, no limp in her step, though from the shattered hole of her chest fell a piece of hardened skin, sharp on the forest floor like a crystal shard. She did not notice it nor did she notice that the eyes of the wolf in the darkness had shifted and now they were held by the shadow of a man, tall and slender, who watched the woman with an old, knowing wariness.
"Here. It is yours to do with as you please." The woman handed the pouch to the girl and though it was ruined, Eurydice could feel the flutter of something within.
"Come now," Ghilan'nain said as she placed her hand on her halla and created a path of light through the woods, though she needed it not. She walked on towards it and Eurydice followed, asking her "Can I touch the halla?"
"Of course."
So she did and when she looked behind her, the shadow, the wolf, the man was gone—and soon, so was she.
Elven phrases and words (credit to Katie's Best-Guess-At-Elvhen-Dictionary and the DA Wiki)
Aneth ara: A sociable or friendly greeting, more commonly used among the Dalish themselves rather than with outsiders.
Dahl'amythal: Tree of Mythal from which Dalish Keepers' staves are cut.
Da'lan: Little child; little one.
Fenedhis: Meaning officially undefined as of yet; a common curse.
Ghilan: guide/teacher (derived from 'Ghilana')
Mamae: Mother (Mama).
Papae: Father (Papa).