Interlude III: Felicia

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit

Where to finish? A day that wasn't particularly sunny, but it didn't rain either, not early, but it wasn't late evening either. The girl it happened to wasn't the most beautiful girl in the town, but she was far from ugly. The girl was mundane, the father wasn't. There was an entirely too effective weapon and the ammunition erupted into fragments. Because there are conventions even in tragedy, that was just the beginning.

Felicia Hoyt was a sociable child. It wasn't easy with a father who made a background check for every friend whose name she even mentioned, but she managed, full of good cheer. Felicia had a small problem with resisting temptations, namely that she couldn't. Even as a little girl, she couldn't seem to stay away from anything that piqued her curiosity, no matter how small or unimportant. If she saw her mother writing a letter she had to read it over her shoulder, if there was a jar on the kitchen table, she had to open it to see if there was jam or pickles inside. If there was an empty plot of land, probably full of fascinating stuff people had thrown away hidden in the high grass, she had to explore it, if there was a door in her vicinity she had tried to open it. If there was a person looking sad she had to ask him or her why even if they were strangers and because she was a cute, small girl with big, wet, emphatic eyes she got away with it.

Father said often that she would make a great Turk one day. Mother always answered that it was no life for a sweet child like her. Felicia didn't like it when her parents argued, but she didn't know what she could do to make it stop. Father was a Turk too and surely mother didn't think that was bad? She had married him after all and she was what old-fashioned people called a nice woman, those old women whose vocabulary knew nice as a synonym to fine and distinguished.

The girl was a sweet little thing, her father known for miles around and at times mysterious strangers came into town. She had a nanny when she was too young to go to school, a dark-haired firm woman that wore a dark blue suit, discreet pearl earrings and a gun holster.

The nanny's name was Zoë with no surname attached, just like father had none, and Felicia called her Auntie for six years. Zoë didn't leave her even when there was no use for babysitting anymore, since when Felicia turned seven and went to school she stopped being a nanny and became a bodyguard. Around that time Felicia stopped calling her Auntie out of sheer annoyance. How was she supposed to make new friends when there was a 6'7 tall woman intimidating them? Luckily she had a gaggle of friends already, closest of who were Brian, Wendela and especially Elfé. Elfé was the bravest of them, she even dared to create distractions for Felicia to slip away from Zoë and the fact that she dared to do so more than once made her a hero in Felicia's books.

Kalm was a village located just outside of Midgar. Unlike the massive, bustling metropolis nearby, Kalm was the kind of place where time had stopped. It was a tiny hamlet with only a few shops, a pub, and an inn. People didn't lock their doors except for Felicia's father and old Agnes kept a honey stall beside her house where there was a box next to the jars where people were supposed to put their money when Agnes was cooking inside. Everyone always did. It's good you chose to raise the lil one here, Fiona, that new-fanged Midgar's no good, Agnes once told mother. Felicia knew that father worked there and intended to ask why they lived in Kalm, but for a reason she couldn't quite comprehend she always lost her nerve at the last minute. Father had a cold, cold look in his eyes at times when he wasn't talking with her or mother. She was slowly growing up.

Good the song that quickly ceases, so came Elfé's thirteenth birthday. Felicia had bought her a necklace that had her name carven into it and wrapped it up herself with green paper and red ribbon. She pretty much strong-armed Brian and Wendela into helping with her great escape and walked down the street towards the great oak behind the inn. They had conjured up a plan to meet that day and hadn't told a soul, kept the whole thing tight. It was a warm day at a quarter to three. Felicia was ready to go, but where was Elfé?

Kalm was always a quiet little place, but that day it was really much too quiet for her liking and she was almost sorry she had ditched Zoë. What a day for Elfé to be late and she had their picnic basket too.

Then there was a huge explosion that felt like it tore right through her eardrums and her feet weren't suddenly touching the ground anymore, she collided with the tree headfirst and slumped down. She had never before been really hurt, but now her head pounded nauseatingly, with silvery spikes of pain and it was heavy when she tried to lift it from the grass. Her heart beat so loud and then everything went pitch black. When she opened her eyes people around her were screaming and her head hurt like it was going to explode. She could see great red-golden flames dancing on the inn's roof, feel the heat of it on her face. She wanted to run home and realized she had no idea where it was. If she even had home anymore, awfully many buildings were in flames. She had no idea who she was and so she curled up into a small, tight ball and cried until she slept, or maybe it was more like unconsciousness. Long grass hid her well, but despite all she was lucky; it didn't catch fire. The next day, when the pale daybreak light waked her, she was still alone.

She found out she could read when she opened a small gift that had been in her pocket and found a pendant with Elfé carved into it, letters ornate and delicate. But had the gift been for her or from her to someone? At the end she decided to call herself Elfé. It wasn't like she knew another name to go by.

Where to begin? There were many who could have told her otherwise, but they decided that Elfé was better off orphaned and adopted. Who can tell?

Emotional surgery pays no indemnity.
Some seek release with effete anaesthesia,
others adapt to the role of sworn enemy.
You found nepenthe in cheap, sweet amnesia;
It was far easier losing my memory.

AN: The lyrics are from You Lost My Memories by Skyclad. I don't own them.