curls of my hair, until I no longer needed Anne’s help. I grew used to the weight of the petticoats that my aunt deemed necessary. I began to find taste in even the blandest of the foods presented to me. I worked my way through half of the library and managed a faultless backflip. Still they did not come.
And so, slowly, I sank.
It was black hopelessness, a kind of numb despair, that waited to claim me. I was swallowed up until I seemed to lose myself in it. I can only describe this feeling as something like the shock that can overtake the body in the wake of a serious injury and which can be fatal in its own right. Too much loss had injured my mind and heart. Without a friend to talk to, and with weeks passing without my exchanging more conversation than “please” and “thank you” with the servants – everything turned inwards. I succumbed.
Day after day, I sat on the window seat overlooking the frozen garden, alone. In my mind I dwelled on each separate pain until those memories seemed to engulf me. My mother’s death. My father’s betrayal. My failure to protect my family. My brothers’ disappearance. Though I was still convinced that David, Robin and Hugh were alive, I could no longer fool myself that they would arrive at any moment to rescue me. What would they rescue me from? For all I knew they were worse off than I. With my face pressed against the icy cold of the window, I cried my last tears for my family, and the life I had left behind.
I grew used to stillness and solitude that winter. Eventually, as the new shoots braved the frost, something descended on me – if not contentment, then at least acceptance. The very helplessness that bound me also brought me something like peace. At length, despair relinquished its hold. I tucked away memories of home and my brothers; instead I thought of Gabriel, and looked forward to the thaw and the first new moon. My feelings were echoed by the slow change I had felt in the land as the end of winter approached. With the rising of sap came a surge of new life – the lethargic currents of natural energy gathered strength from some unknown source until they seemed to swirl and well around the house. Perhaps the country was at last recovering from the devastation of war.
As the strength of the enaid grew, so did my own.
One day I wrapped up warmly against the chill of the wind and went out to walk in the garden. I had wandered about alone for some minutes, when I heard a noise behind me and turned to see, most unexpectedly, Aunt Eirian leaving the house. I stared at her as she stumped awkwardly across the grass towards me.
“Good day,” she said stiffly.
“Good day, Aunt,” I replied with equal graciousness, wishing she would go back in and leave me alone.
“I … I am glad to see you looking better.” She looked away from me, uncomfortable.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said coldly.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped, abandoning her attempt at manners. “I’m not such a fool that I don’t recognize despair when I see it.”
I stared at her again, wordless. She tapped her fingernails against the silver top of her walking stick.
“Let me tell you a story, Alexandra. Once there were two sisters. The eldest was a skilled cunning woman, and thought very lovely. At an early age she was betrothed to a young man who was the heir to the throne. This older sister thought herself very lucky, because she truly loved the man she was to marry, and believed he cared for her too. Unbeknown to her, the man she was betrothed to was actually falling in love with her younger sister, who was more beautiful still, and acknowledged as a great wise woman. And the younger sister encouraged this, because she believed that with her greater powers she would do more good as the queen. Eventually the young king broke his engagement and married the younger sister instead. The discarded girl thought that her heart was broken. She couldn’t stand to see
And so, slowly, I sank.
It was black hopelessness, a kind of numb despair, that waited to claim me. I was swallowed up until I seemed to lose myself in it. I can only describe this feeling as something like the shock that can overtake the body in the wake of a serious injury and which can be fatal in its own right. Too much loss had injured my mind and heart. Without a friend to talk to, and with weeks passing without my exchanging more conversation than “please” and “thank you” with the servants – everything turned inwards. I succumbed.
Day after day, I sat on the window seat overlooking the frozen garden, alone. In my mind I dwelled on each separate pain until those memories seemed to engulf me. My mother’s death. My father’s betrayal. My failure to protect my family. My brothers’ disappearance. Though I was still convinced that David, Robin and Hugh were alive, I could no longer fool myself that they would arrive at any moment to rescue me. What would they rescue me from? For all I knew they were worse off than I. With my face pressed against the icy cold of the window, I cried my last tears for my family, and the life I had left behind.
I grew used to stillness and solitude that winter. Eventually, as the new shoots braved the frost, something descended on me – if not contentment, then at least acceptance. The very helplessness that bound me also brought me something like peace. At length, despair relinquished its hold. I tucked away memories of home and my brothers; instead I thought of Gabriel, and looked forward to the thaw and the first new moon. My feelings were echoed by the slow change I had felt in the land as the end of winter approached. With the rising of sap came a surge of new life – the lethargic currents of natural energy gathered strength from some unknown source until they seemed to swirl and well around the house. Perhaps the country was at last recovering from the devastation of war.
As the strength of the enaid grew, so did my own.
One day I wrapped up warmly against the chill of the wind and went out to walk in the garden. I had wandered about alone for some minutes, when I heard a noise behind me and turned to see, most unexpectedly, Aunt Eirian leaving the house. I stared at her as she stumped awkwardly across the grass towards me.
“Good day,” she said stiffly.
“Good day, Aunt,” I replied with equal graciousness, wishing she would go back in and leave me alone.
“I … I am glad to see you looking better.” She looked away from me, uncomfortable.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said coldly.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped, abandoning her attempt at manners. “I’m not such a fool that I don’t recognize despair when I see it.”
I stared at her again, wordless. She tapped her fingernails against the silver top of her walking stick.
“Let me tell you a story, Alexandra. Once there were two sisters. The eldest was a skilled cunning woman, and thought very lovely. At an early age she was betrothed to a young man who was the heir to the throne. This older sister thought herself very lucky, because she truly loved the man she was to marry, and believed he cared for her too. Unbeknown to her, the man she was betrothed to was actually falling in love with her younger sister, who was more beautiful still, and acknowledged as a great wise woman. And the younger sister encouraged this, because she believed that with her greater powers she would do more good as the queen. Eventually the young king broke his engagement and married the younger sister instead. The discarded girl thought that her heart was broken. She couldn’t stand to see
Similar Books
