Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia

The sun was starting to set below the horizon, and still, she had not come in.

She had crumpled to the ground, sobs shaking her small body as she wrapped her arms around herself, begging the Unnamed God to release her from this torment and allow her to return to her family. Would she never see her husband again? Never feel his strong arms around her, taste his kiss, hear his voice? And her children... would they grow up with only distant memories of her, of the girl who had brought them into this world and then disappeared, stolen back to a society they knew nothing of? If she ever did manage to return, would they remember her, or would she be a complete stranger?

Melena watched from the window, tears in her own eyes. She wanted her daughter home, but not at the risk of Sophelia's heartbreak, her pain, her sanity. She wanted the little girl she had given birth to, the child she had raised for thirteen years, who had enchanted everyone with her singing and her smile, who had let her curious nature take hold even in the worst of times; the child who, when they had left Fliaan, had declared they would be going a grand adventure, and that she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

And somehow, that grand adventure her daughter had been so excited for, had turned into a nightmare.

For days after the raid- even when they finally reached Munch Territory- Melena had woken up at night with her daughter's screams echoing in her head. The fact that her oldest child had been stolen in broad daylight, and that they had done nothing to stop it, gnawed at the mother of three for the last seven years. She had failed her daughter, left her to the savages, a flower, ripe for the plucking. Even now, Melena would not forgive herself- could not- no matter how many times she was told that it wasn't her fault.

"She's the Crown Princess of the Arjiki. Once you become Arjiki... Arjiki you will remain."

Tibbett's words rang loud and clear in her head, and the tears trailing her cheeks fell harder. Strong arms slowly wrapped around her from behind, and she soon felt Frex's comforting presence about her. "Shh, hush, Melena. It'll be okay. We'll get her back. She'll return to us. By the end of the week, she'll be our Sophelia again."

His wife shook her head. "You're wrong, Frex." She choked out. "She won't be. She doesn't belong to us anymore... maybe she never did. Maybe she always belonged to them." He kissed her temple in attempt to calm her. "Sophelia is... is dead. That girl... that is not my baby, that is not my daughter. My daughter is gone."

"Melena, don't think that way-"

She pulled way, turning to him. "Why not, Frex? It's true, isn't it? Tibbett all but told us-"

"Forgive me, but I doubt Tibbett knows-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence! You know that Tibbett knows exactly what he's talking about! He's like her- exactly like her! He was a captive once too; he's lived among them, maybe not long enough to marry and have a family like she has, but he was there long enough to be considered the successor for the medicine woman! He knows the tribe! He knows how they work, how they operate! He said it himself; they're a peaceful people, they gave him a home, like they did for her!" She turned back to the window. "And he was stolen from it, just like she was."

Her husband sighed, turning his gaze to the window, where their daughter was on her knees, arms tight around herself, sobbing. He didn't know what to say to his wife to convince her that their daughter's return was a good thing. That she would stay, that she wouldn't return to the Arjiki. But Melena- who had lived the last seven years with the guilt and heartache of losing her child- refused to be swayed. She had taken Tibbett's words to heart, realizing that their daughter did not belong to them anymore, and probably never would again.

Two hours later, she slipped back into the house, being careful not to wake the other occupants. On soft feet, she crept through the kitchen and living area, up the stairs and into her room. After several minutes of trying to figure out how to get out of the dress, she'd tossed it and the undergarments into a heap in the far corner of the room, and then pulled the nightgown from its place balled up beneath the bed. After studying it momentarily, she tossed it back beneath the bed and took a seat upon the edge; she would rather sleep bare than in that stifling gown again.

Taking deep breaths, she sat still, forcing herself to remain calm. She had begged the gods to return her to her family, pleaded with them until she was hoarse, to no avail. She slid a hand along her belly, feeling the soft curves of flesh that had not fully smoothed and tightened after birth, left from her pregnancies, the reminders that she had carried and birthed three beautiful children. She choked on a sob, reaching up to wipe at the tears on her cheeks. Would these soft curves, the slightly off-colored marks on the insides of her thighs, on her belly, be the only things she had left of her children, if she was not returned to her tribe?

She wrapped her arms around her belly, curling in on herself, sobbing quietly. "Lasciami andare a casa, si prega. Voglio andare a casa, alla mia tribù. Si prega!"

But there was no response to her pleas. After several minutes, she curled up on the bed, letting her soft sobs take control, unaware that on the other side of the locked bedroom door, Melena crumpled to the ground, tears racing down her own cheeks. She knew not a word of her daughter's plea, but knew and understood the tone- for it had been the same tone she'd used when she'd begged for her daughter to be sent home. Choking on her own soft sobs, Melena buried her face in her hands, her own heartbreak mirroring her daughter's.