Leda
L eda opened the door of the closet just enough for one olive green eye to peer out. The other eye, the color of straw, closed so she could focus.
Rain trickled down the windowpane of her small bedroom, and she let out a content little sigh. Hibernating in the warm house when the earth crawled with cool mist was one of her favorite things. She leaned back into the closet with the quiet snick of the door closing.
Straightening her spine, she worked out the kinks in her back with a deep breath. Spending two hours stooped over a book in a closet barely big enough for her to lengthen her legs was less than ideal, but at least it was private, no easy feat in a family of eight children. With a pinch of her fingers, she extinguished the candle flame and shoved the books on potionmaking away from her.
Rosemary twigs. Pecan shells. Simmer on a blue flame. Moonlight for six hours.
An extraordinarily difficult potion sat on her mind and had for many days, percolating in the background of her thoughts. No one had ever gotten the Forgotten Potion right, which is exactly why Leda wanted to make it. It restored lost memories. Not like a generalized memory potion, either. It could bring back a specific, imperfect memory, rooting it out from childhood if necessary.
Maybe I could use it on myself and remember the wretched day I received this curse.
Leda pushed her white-blonde hair away from her face. There was really no use reviewing the Forgotten Potion any longer. She didn’t have the time to try it, not with all the studying she had to do.
One day. One day I will try it.
By the time she extricated herself from the books and the tiny closet, her siblings’ voices had moved from their bedrooms into the dining room. Mama’s called out over them. The sound of her voice, and the meaty smell of stew in the air, meant dinner was just about to start. Dinner meant Papa would be home.
Motivated by the thought of Papa’s return, Leda quickly slipped the scroll underneath the mattress with her stubby pencil, tucking them back as far as they could go. Anything that could rip had to be well out of reach of her young siblings’ grubby hands.
The children were racing around the table with happy shrieks when Leda appeared. She grabbed a younger brother to stop him chasing the oldest boy, plopped him in his seat, and snatched a butter knife away from her smallest sister as she ran past.
“Those aren’t toys, Ava.”
Her mother brushed past her with a loving smile.
“Thank you Leda. Start slicing the bread, will you? Your father should be here any minute now.”
The candles on the table flared to life when her mother walked past, bouncing with a sudden flame. At Mama’s command, the rest of children dutifully took their seats, in which they remained, anchored by magic. Bronwyn, the second oldest girl, walked around the table setting out plates.
“Did you get some studying done?” she asked Leda.
“Yes. A little.”
A familiar sensation filled Leda’s mind, occupying her awareness. An image swam before her; the family was eating dinner, half the stew was gone, and the little boys were laughing. A new picture flashed by right after; Papa walked in the door, dripping rain. Before she could understand it, another one took it’s place. Dinner had finished. Bronwyn and Leda were clearing the dishes. Mama was chasing the youngest, trying to get stockings on before bed. A new image came and Papa stepped in, his head down and clothes drenched, a troubled look in his eyes. Of the two pictures, the last left the strongest feeling.
Leda’s heart stumbled.
Not bad news. Not today. Not today of all days.
“Papa is going to be late,” Leda said as the sensation ebbed away, purposely leaving out the foreboding feeling it gave her. Mama looked up for a moment, surprised. Then the look faded from her green eyes, and she managed an unaffected smile. She wiped her red hands on her apron and nodded, but Leda couldn’t hide anything from
L eda opened the door of the closet just enough for one olive green eye to peer out. The other eye, the color of straw, closed so she could focus.
Rain trickled down the windowpane of her small bedroom, and she let out a content little sigh. Hibernating in the warm house when the earth crawled with cool mist was one of her favorite things. She leaned back into the closet with the quiet snick of the door closing.
Straightening her spine, she worked out the kinks in her back with a deep breath. Spending two hours stooped over a book in a closet barely big enough for her to lengthen her legs was less than ideal, but at least it was private, no easy feat in a family of eight children. With a pinch of her fingers, she extinguished the candle flame and shoved the books on potionmaking away from her.
Rosemary twigs. Pecan shells. Simmer on a blue flame. Moonlight for six hours.
An extraordinarily difficult potion sat on her mind and had for many days, percolating in the background of her thoughts. No one had ever gotten the Forgotten Potion right, which is exactly why Leda wanted to make it. It restored lost memories. Not like a generalized memory potion, either. It could bring back a specific, imperfect memory, rooting it out from childhood if necessary.
Maybe I could use it on myself and remember the wretched day I received this curse.
Leda pushed her white-blonde hair away from her face. There was really no use reviewing the Forgotten Potion any longer. She didn’t have the time to try it, not with all the studying she had to do.
One day. One day I will try it.
By the time she extricated herself from the books and the tiny closet, her siblings’ voices had moved from their bedrooms into the dining room. Mama’s called out over them. The sound of her voice, and the meaty smell of stew in the air, meant dinner was just about to start. Dinner meant Papa would be home.
Motivated by the thought of Papa’s return, Leda quickly slipped the scroll underneath the mattress with her stubby pencil, tucking them back as far as they could go. Anything that could rip had to be well out of reach of her young siblings’ grubby hands.
The children were racing around the table with happy shrieks when Leda appeared. She grabbed a younger brother to stop him chasing the oldest boy, plopped him in his seat, and snatched a butter knife away from her smallest sister as she ran past.
“Those aren’t toys, Ava.”
Her mother brushed past her with a loving smile.
“Thank you Leda. Start slicing the bread, will you? Your father should be here any minute now.”
The candles on the table flared to life when her mother walked past, bouncing with a sudden flame. At Mama’s command, the rest of children dutifully took their seats, in which they remained, anchored by magic. Bronwyn, the second oldest girl, walked around the table setting out plates.
“Did you get some studying done?” she asked Leda.
“Yes. A little.”
A familiar sensation filled Leda’s mind, occupying her awareness. An image swam before her; the family was eating dinner, half the stew was gone, and the little boys were laughing. A new picture flashed by right after; Papa walked in the door, dripping rain. Before she could understand it, another one took it’s place. Dinner had finished. Bronwyn and Leda were clearing the dishes. Mama was chasing the youngest, trying to get stockings on before bed. A new image came and Papa stepped in, his head down and clothes drenched, a troubled look in his eyes. Of the two pictures, the last left the strongest feeling.
Leda’s heart stumbled.
Not bad news. Not today. Not today of all days.
“Papa is going to be late,” Leda said as the sensation ebbed away, purposely leaving out the foreboding feeling it gave her. Mama looked up for a moment, surprised. Then the look faded from her green eyes, and she managed an unaffected smile. She wiped her red hands on her apron and nodded, but Leda couldn’t hide anything from
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