Ashes to Ashes

The future. It’s a word that I am familiar with, one I claim to know despite its ramifications. Seeing ahead though, is never the same as looking back.

There is always a certain amount of guilt associated with letting things slip by me. Maybe had I stayed and read for him after he agreed, things would have been different. Is it egotistical to think that maybe I could have had the power to changed it? I could have helped him, something he had asked me for, and I let him down.

The shop is gone, nothing left but charred timber and ash, with no sign of Chance whatsoever. Perhaps he, like the buildings that flanked its sides, was untouched by the kiss of flame, of this I’m sure, certain I would know if he was hurt. Or maybe I know this because the swing was untouched as well, that in itself is a symbol of hope.

Sometimes we just have to unlock life’s mysteries to harrowing questions on our own.

I of all people understand this.

I will miss him.

Five

Motion, Erratic, Adventure, Passion, Expansion, Travel, Unpredictability

Elecktra - Adventure
He wanted me to read for her, his new guest, a woman who has lost her sister. A woman who had come to Castor for training, but somehow, I feel there is more to it. She’s a dark haired beauty and I know from previous experience that he prefers dark hair. It worries me that he has told me nothing about her, therein lays the catch. It could very well be this woman who can supply his adventure addiction. I did read for her, the first card drawn, the Five of Swords. Five, the meaning goes beyond the simple act of reading.

Celo - Motion
His new slave has hair, gorgeous lengths of blonde, and has been assigned a name and not a number. I can only surmise by this fact that she is more important than the rest, or at least, different. She’s graceful, like a colorful butterfly and I can see she’s very eager to please him. Castor has never been a man who puts much stock in personal slaves, until now.

Nia – Unpredictability
She doesn’t care for me. I don’t believe she ever has. Castor trusts her, probably more so than me, but I don’t trust her at all. She sees me as a liability, one that will hinder his progress of greater goals, and I believe that if she thought she could rid the house of me, she would without a second thought.

Charm – Expansion
I still see her as a child, my child who doesn’t yet understand her gifts. She is more focused than me and she already knows what she wants. She is much more hungry for knowledge than I was at that age, and she absorbs quicker than any child should. He’s molding her into something, and I can already see that she is daddy’s little girl.

Me – Passion
Perhaps I would have been better described as Erratic. I’m trying to fit in again. To find my place. I want to be the woman who makes him happy, something I believe I’ve fallen short of in the past. I want to accept him as he is, perhaps another of my shortcomings. He’s trying, I can see it in everything he does. I need to try harder too. No one ever said that love would be easy.

Our Painted Realities

I looked as if I’d been painted in brush strokes of blood, dark crimson seeping into brown, dregs of red, saturated and dried, hung down in front of my face, giving me a rather feral look. If people usually gave me a wide berth in passing, they were doing that even more so tonight with their blatant stares and shocked whispers.

The painting war at Gina’s shop had done much to lighten my mood, even though I hadn’t won the contest. Mare and myself against Gina, Dor and Iris wasn’t exactly what I’d call fair play, but it was amusing.

I didn’t want Castor to see me at my worst, so I had returned to his house in hushed enfoldment, hoping to make it to my room without incident. But he was there, waiting for me. He had something to show me.

I used to hear him cry, my reality and illusion twisted. I used to think I was guilty, I still am, but for quite another reason.

I should have known. The signs were there, all of them, the dreams, the feelings, a part of my past I could not release. What I had thought I had done was all a lie. Aiden’s lie, that I had become an unwilling participant in. My son was alive. Here. But the destiny of the curse is not yet done with him.

And even though I gave up, Castor did not.

So many things are yet left unexplained. The fact that Charming had seen what I did, or what I thought I did. Was she picking up on my own guilty conscious? I realize she doesn’t understand the things she sees and this is something that I have been trying to help her with.

And Aiden. Why would he leave my son with a woman in the Tahari? If he had gone to such great lengths to make me believe I had killed him, he obviously wanted him for something. Why didn’t he take him with him? The answers to these questions are probably something I will never understand.

It’s not that I’m not happy that he’s home, I am, blissfully so, but there is a part of me that knows if answers do not come now, that something more frightening will be laying in wait, and it’s that thought that terrifies me..

Castor bought Charming a Nar.

Light Me a Candle

He’s dead.

Not in the sense that he no longer breathes but by way of tragedy. He’s the only one left. He holds a secret, in the most unlikely of places, to the most unlikely of things. The vessel of flesh has its purpose.

Chairs dance and burners ignite. Candles flicker without consent. The flame color is elemental. Blue. People don’t see you when you don’t exist. Sometimes I think I’m dead too.

He doesn’t believe, not in the sense that I do. Not in a way that counts. A reason for everything he says. But all things are not rational. Science can’t trump faith. It’s never going to happen. He’s a stubborn man. I’m learning that I’m a stubborn woman.

And the rotters continue to disintegrate.

Buried mysteries, buried, not dead. Tokens, symbols of going against the white. Elaborate schemes.

I now hold within me knowledge shared. But who will I tell? The relieving of churning emotions, a chaotic cauldron of bubbling burdens that will never simply simmer.

Maybe this is why we have been brought together. A savior of sorts. A ghost that walks among men. A cure to what ails them.

Fire took a breath. Not Blue, but orange, and I was staring at it.

It’s not the cards, but me. Yes, I have heard it all before, the argument not new. And the whispers were growing louder. Times like these I think I might be insane. I wanted to read for him. They wanted to tell him something. He refused. He doesn’t believe. The candle would not sway.

Predestined power. We both have it, just in different ways. Tampered with. Destiny always delivers me into the presence of abnormal. And as fortunes servant, I always go willingly.

Everything is not cut from the cloth of rational thought. If it cannot be seen or measured, does it exist?

A transfer of touch, a fluttering of lash.
Tangible anger that reeked around me.
A clandestine coldness that forced a shiver from me.
Dominating images that played like moving pictures behind my eyelids.
Emotional pain.
Perceptive illusions.
Weakness, visibly and physically draining downwards, a puddle of flesh and bone beneath wrappings of blue.
Spilled cards.

A quick yielding kiss to cheek. Whispers. Passive Pleas. One mouth dragging over another. A promise to help.

I will read for him.

The afflicted are nameless.

Red

Copper tinged and full of tragedy. I could smell it. He wore it like armor, but guilt is not so easily shed.

Not like clothing trimmed in coins.

I could hear his heartbeat throbbing in my head. Demands to leave were heard, but unbidden.

Responsive motivation. An act of judgment. A curtain call that would lead to the next act.

Beauty isn’t always held by beast and bitter burdens aren’t always one man’s to bear. Acceptance. I understood. I’ve always understood.

Prints of passion bathed in blood, a lustful liaison that only sees red.

Forgive.

Forget.

Until the next time.

I'll see you then.

The Visit

I have been granted the privilege of seeing my daughter, a letter written some time back requesting visitation. Once a hand for a few ahns with Nonny in attendance. It was something that I have debated over, unsure what would be best for her, but in the end, I could not have her growing up thinking that I had abandoned her.

She doesn’t look like me at all, a dark haired darling with eyes as brilliantly blue as the summer sky. She coos when she smiles and I’d like to think she recognizes me, though I’m sure that’s just wishful thinking. I took her a doll and I promised to bring her something each and every hand that I visit.

Leaving her was hard, much harder than I thought it would be and I found myself dragging out the time so that I wouldn’t have to go. I missed her the moment I walked out the door and I could feel the familiar pang of panic at having to leave her.

Even though I know I’ll have to do it again,
and again,
and again.

The wound will never close, but at least I know she’s safe.

The Crystal Door Knob

He had grabbed me and pulled me out of the way of raining roof tiles, His fingers curling into my upper arms. Even through the thin layer of fabric sleeves, I knew. I had not suspected, despite the signs, because, what I thought I had been looking for was not a man honed from bone and flesh. I was wrong…

I had returned as previously planned, though I’m not sure he was expecting me quite so early. She had changed much in the duration of time that I had been away. In two days the front of the building had a new façade, new double doors ready to be hung, the large window that had brought such warming light into its interior being replaced with two smaller, more narrow ones.

There were several men wandering about, working, laying brick, sanding the staircase, one laying on a scaffold and installing energy bulbs, he the one I gravitated towards, asking if the owner were about. I need look no further.

With his arms free, I could see the myriad of jagged scars that rolled into flesh. Scars, odd scars that I hadn’t seen before, and I have seen a number of scars in my time, but this was something that I could not connect to anything familiar.

I wasn’t liking all the changes. I’ve never been one much for reform, in anything, and though I could see the need for transformation, it was still a hard pill for me to swallow. But despite my opinion, I could fee her coming alive again under his hand and lay of careful plans. She’s not mine, but I’m still a part of her.

Panic. Horror. I’m not sure why I chose those modes of emotion, but when he told me he wasn’t going to live there, that he was going to rent the top floor out.. .to strangers, I could feel my composure crumbling. I could feel the clench in fisted fabric whitening my knuckles and could imagine the fabric renting beneath my grasp. I’ve often held spirits in inanimate objects, especially houses. But this house was special and I felt as if it was being disrespected. I could already feel an argument bubbling to the surface, one I knew I had no right to, but my compulsion to protect was not allowing me to think clearly. After the offering of water he escorted me to the back of the building where we could breathe better without the rallies of dust from the workman within.

I had been debating with myself on the best way to handle the situation, but the only solution I could come up with was to rent the upstairs myself. An offer that had a whole new set of consequences.

They didn’t know we were there, the men on the roof peeling back the tiles that needed to be replaced. He responded much quicker than I could have, or did, forcing me out of the way of heavy falling objects.

Touch. A long time ago, it was a part of my curse, one that kept me from touching anyone. Sometimes I wouldn’t even need to touch them, if I just stood close enough, I could see flashes, pictures in my mind. Nothing that really made sense, because I had not been part of those memories, but this, this was different. I was there, in his head, seeing what he saw on our two previous encounters. It took but an ehn to sew the thoughts together, and I knew.

My immediate reaction was to run, but with every step back I took, he was countering it with a step forward, only stopping when he saw my distress, and of all things, telling me I was safe here.

But I’ve never been safe anywhere. Safety, it was a word of illusion, of smoke and mirrors, and had nothing to do with reality.

I knew who he was, and he knew I knew which didn’t make the knowing any easier.

I had no facts behind the images I had seen, so much like the whisper of cards, I often not understanding what they are trying to tell those I read for, unless they care to divulge. I am but a tool, an instrument, a vessel from which these.. un-normal happenings collect. A man shadowed in blue, a flame caught in some ordinance of time. I told him he wasn’t normal, a statement not meant to sound nearly as insulting as it probably was. I told him that I wasn’t normal either, the mystery of Fate and Chance only deepening.

I was drowning in inertia. It wafted around me like the honeyed scent of freshly pollinated flower. Empathy was easily felt now, even without the coercion of touch to bid it into existence. Things had reversed, now, with his backward step, mine moved forward.

How does one explain a common bond, the thread that attaches us to each other? The delicate lace web that catches us holds un until contact is made. I would be lying to myself if I said I am not drawn to him, though the intricate details of why have not yet been revealed.

Things were falling into place, if not answers, than the realization that we were both suppose to be here at this point in our existence. But he had turned the tides of my future path by giving me an ultimatum.

I can only gather that my answer was not exactly to his liking and he headed in the direction of Charm’s old swing, intent on tearing it down.

I was trying to peel back the petals of rational thought, resisting the urge to run after him and throw myself in front of it so that he’d not add it to the demolition. No longer mine. It didn’t matter how many times I said that, chanting it beneath my breath, I could feel my fingers clenching into the brown fabric of skirt, before the realization of an answer came to me. He could keep it; repair it for the children of his patients. I hoped he would agree.

We both should be there. Now. Something was commanding it. All the times I had come here, had I been, in some incredibly odd way, waiting for him? Like seeing the future while trapped in the present, knowing that someday I’d find him here, waiting.

With the push of his hand I was shoved against the wall, another tile from the roof barely missing us both. Something I believe he felt, rather than saw. Soon there was a rain of tiles, the workmen overhead unknowing of our existence just below them. It wasn’t safe for either of us to stand there, but that wasn’t only because it was a construction area. It was time for me to go.

There are few men that I feel comfortable with or trust. There is Castor, of course, the endless love of my life, a man who I would die for, a man who loves me in spite of myself and in spite of everyone else. There is Dor, who has earned my respect as a companion and father, a man I’m certain would never betray Gina. And then there is Chance, who I trust for reasons I can’t explain.

He punched through the wood of my purple door and gifted me with the glass knob. I suddenly understood the scars as new ones were made.

We have committed to finding a truth.

I have to know who he is.

Castor

Velvet chains have always bound us, tethered us to some surreal world where no one else exists, only us. I have loved others, but he has always been the man who possesses and controls my heart strings, as much as I have tried to deny it.

He still desires me.

He’s trying so hard to be the man he thinks I need. It’s a new side of him, one I don’t remember having ever seen, a man who seems happy to have me back. A man who has wanted me back all along. He’s been waiting for me. He wants us to work. I want us to work too. He gave me a ring, a sapphire paired with diamonds.

I’ve changed in so many ways, both good and bad. I think I’ve grown, or at least expanded my horizons. Perhaps he has grown as well. I think he likes my new friends, or maybe he’s just glad I finally have friends. He’s been ..agreeable.

He still needs me.

For two nights a hand Charm and I are to stay with him at his home. Not by order, but request. I’m even going to be afforded my own room.

I am finding it far too easy to simply slip back into the only role I’ve ever been comfortable in. All he has to do is look at me and I can feel my resolve crumbling, the outer shell that I’ve worked so hard to build melting away. He brings out something within me that no one else can, though there are times I’m not sure if he’s the antidote I seek, or the poison that will crawl through my veins and destroy me.

I actually hope it’s a little of each.

He still loves me.

True love is so much more than the simple exchanging of words, or a lover’s rites of passage. It doesn’t die, it doesn’t mutate. What it does is condemn the bearer’s to an inescapable bond, one that will hold fast over the years, despite the distance of separation or the agony of desertion.

Ties that bind. I’ve missed him.

The Purple Door

I found myself in front of the shop again, as I often do, saddened by the wear and tear of times ravaging touch. It holds the pieces of my past in stasis, my recollections wrapped up in a colorful butterfly’s cocoon of memories, each to be taken out and remembered as time allows.

The last time I had passed this way I had promised myself to find out who owned her now, and to see if perhaps I could make her mine again. But with so much discord in my life over the past few months, my priorities had been rearranged.

The purple door is faded now, the paint peeling and falling away in large chunks, the hinges that hold it in its wobbled state layered in rust. The last time I had been here, the door had still been locked, but now it looked as if urts were not the only ones using it as a living space.

I had managed to squeeze between the heavy half hinged door and the frame, trying to see a room which used to be my inner sanctum. I had loved it here. I had been happy here, if only for a short time. The floor was littered with debris, strewn with glass and bits of leaves, wood and furs, an animal’s treasure trove of hiding and building. I wished the haunted vacancy was mine once again.

I’ve always thought of the small two story building that resided behind an alley off the Great Square as a she, and though I had never named her, the welcoming aura that she exuded was definitely feminine.

I hadn’t expected to be caught in the act of investigation, but the whisper that hailed behind me in offering of help had my breath catching in misery with the knowledge I was no longer alone. I tried to turn, but my body was effectively wedged between the door and the door’s frame, my options limited. I could back out and chance running into him, or move forward into the darkened womb of the front room. Neither was a choice to my liking. I told him that I had once owned the building and that I had been curious. I then asked him to back away so that I could remove myself from my idiotic induced trapped. But instead of backing away, he closed in; admitting the place now belonged to him.

I am not a woman easily riled. The many years in the company of Castor had dampened any pre-destined proclivities of temper that might have manifested had he otherwise not been in my life. And when he reached up to extend his arm past my shoulder and shoved the door open, my decision was made to move forward as I heard the wood begin to snap. It was a decision I hoped I did not regret. He had called my home, or once home, a dump. And though it was true, the place in much need of repair, the word brought a stabbing pain to my heart, a pain that I tried to regurgitate in order to no longer experience its suffering. I was finding that I was having a hard time releasing what was once .. mine.

When I turned to accuse him of speaking ill of my house, I was quickly reminded by fleeting thoughts that the house no longer belonged to me. I could feel him staring at me, perhaps studying me as if I were some test bug under the magnification of a microscope, but as of yet, his features were shadowed within the hood of a dark, perhaps black cloak. Both Kurrost and the Assassin that I had read for in the Square, the one I was sure had sent me the threats forced me to believe that perhaps this was more than a chance meeting; I do not rely on coincidences.

The table was still there, laying in wait in front of the shattered window. I moved towards it, the blade of memories slashing in my mind. I touched the top of it and watched small fairy pools of dust set to a ballet of dancing flight, seen through the light of slatted shutters. I was trying to assemble my thoughts in some semblance of rational realization. I wasn’t doing so well, and so, to keep the conversation flowing, I began to describe parts of his new purchase. I ended with the a question though, if he might consider selling it back to me. He would not. But it did offer me to take whatever I wanted.

I could only think of one thing that was destined to be mine.

When he moved to the outside window and threw open the shutters, I backed away, my hand lifting to shade my eyes from the bright light. There was something oddly familiar about the man, a sense of deja' vu invading the miasma that tended to wrap around me. I was certain we had met before, but as of yet, I’d still not seen his face. He answered my question with another question. Not quite denial, but neither was it confirmation. I was sure we had though. I could feel it.

The shop sign over the door. I wanted it, my small memento of a time when I had been liberated and alone and had only Charm to worry about.

It was only when he was again held in the light of day, in retrieval of my request that I could see his cloak was not black at all, but green. A very dark green. But was it a caste color, or a color of choice? I had wanted to ask.

I thanked him for allowing me to have it and moved out the door, my arms wrapping around the dirty slab of wood and holding it against me as if were some sort of magical shield. Perhaps it was the anomaly of protection that had me turning around to face him again, so that I could ask a question, or rather, a favor. I wanted to come back, to check on the progress of her, my structurally sound friend built of brick and wood. He agreed, so long as I warned him in advance. So I did. I warned him that I would return in two days time.

His name is Chance, which I find ironic, and he whispers like me. And like me, there is something wrong with his voice, a catch of damaged vocal chords that perhaps never healed properly.

I think I should have asked for my purple door as well.

The Bluest Flame

I thought I was going to die, be incinerated by the wrath of God like disposition and I squeezed my eyes closed, my forearm shielding my face. It was brilliant, and in its own way, blindingly beautiful, the blue flash that seized through the outer antechamber, a room that I had thought had become my tomb.

Before..
I was excited.

Her name, Iris, and she was going to dance for Gina and I. I’ve never felt as if I was graceful, which was my thought process behind the want to learn. I was hoping that it would carry over to other aspects of my life, and a little self improvement never hurt anyone . Late in life, I know, but I am determined to change certain things about me.

We three had gone to Gina’s home, or rather, her basement, where we were assured lay in wait all the things that were needed for Iris to make her.. debut. She’s a pretty girl, blonde, blue eyed, flawless flesh without so much as a freckle.

She was painted to perfection before Gina drew forth a flute, it’s haunting tune wafting through the air as Iris began to dance, a woman quite the vision with the soft sway of hips and melodic moves that though untrained, surrendered nicely to the silvery trill of Gina’s flute. At least this was true before she fainted.

At first I had thought she’d dropped dead, from the terror of trying to please two free women, but after the momentary panic waned and we saw that she was still breathing, all that I could think of was that I hoped she hadn’t dented her head, not really wishing to pay for damages on a slave.

After the initial shock of regressed emotion had begun to thin out, I had moved to the mirror to wrap a coin edged scarf around the skirting of my robes, wondering what such ornamentation would look like if robes possessed such trimmings.

Once, a very long time ago, before Aiden raped me, I had been the bearer of … more than I am now. All people have it, but they call it intuition, a feeling that makes ones skin crawl for no apparent reason. But there is always a reason, and though my intuition is not as strong as it once was, I have learned to hone it.

I could feel him, not as one feels with a physical touch, but by way of a phantom manifestation, knowing, even if I couldn’t see him, that he was there, close, just beyond the fringes of our outer circle, a wraith hiding amongst shadows.

There was a moment there when I wondered if the past was repeating itself, if I was forever doomed to be haunted by specters that would never find rest.

I had moved towards the door, where I leaned against its frame, whispering to Gina that someone was there. She immediately assumed it was Dor. I knew it wasn’t.

After..
He stepped out from the beneath the black wings of darkness, his eyes glowing blue green, an intruder that looked as if his patience had come to an end. There was a certain familiarity in the way he moved, the lurch of his hand as it lifted, the rod attached drawing my immediate attention.

The painful noise that had followed the squall of lightening had effectively blunted my hearing, the squeal so intense I thought that my ears would bleed and my brain would explode, and now, with my vision burned away, I had started to back step into the mirrored room, my intent to find Cayden. I could hear Gina, lost somewhere in the extension of the outer prefix, calling out, she too worried about her son. It was only when the my heel hit the basket holding sweet innocence that I bent down, retrieving the child and holding him close, embodied with the instinct to protect.

There are very few instances in my life when I have felt totally helpless and at the mercy of another. I have never been good at asking for help, always tending to retreat into myself and trying to fix the problem without outside assistance. Now, however, I was decidedly wanting a man with a good sword arm standing by my side. A man hungry to defend us. To defend me. The turning point at which another offer would be accepted as soon as I returned to him.

When the proverbial smoke cleared and the fog had waned from my head, and Gina and I realized that we were safe and he was gone, I passed her child over to her so that she could still him, Cayden caught in the throw of tears from being so rudely awakened. The ghost had disappeared beyond an opened grate; one I knew would be cemented closed by my next visit.

My fear of men has only increased.

Turning Point

We can’t go back. We can’t repair the past. We can’t right the wrongs of the people who feel as if they have been betrayed by us. Life is what it is and it continues with or without our involvement. These are the things that I am learning. That we all make mistakes, but from those mistakes we draw what we can so that we do not make them again.

For two days a hand I have promised to stay at his house, so that he can spend more time with his daughter, with me, so that we can work on where we go from here. If indeed we are going anywhere. He’s given his pound of flesh for our safety, perhaps even for our lives. The agonies that he has gone through I cannot even conceive. No man will ever love me the way he loves me, even though his ways are not what anyone would consider normal. The obsessive compulsive emotions we have for one another transcends the breach of civilized desire, and that can be a very dangerous thing, especially for someone in his position. We are a very dangerous weakness.

He has made me see that I cannot abandon the daughter I have for the daughter I have lost, a daughter that I think about often. Several times I have set off to see if I would be allowed to see her, but I always stop short before I reach the house, unable to make the full journey to the doorstep. Is it better to just step away and watch her from afar? Would I confuse her with my presence and make matters worse? These are the things I distress over, trying to make the best choice not for me, but for her.

There is pain in his eyes at the fact that I have born another man’s child, and yet, I cannot be sorry for it. I would make the same choices if I had it to do again, even knowing the ultimate outcome and the sorrow that would follow. Even if I cannot hold her in my arms, she will reside within my heart forever.

I hope that she inherits all of my best qualities. I hope I can find a way for her to not forget.

A Lover’s Lullaby

I had stopped at the library after several ahns of cleaning at Gina’s shop, to get an armload of books to take home and study. It had been quite the exciting day, with Dor breaking her upstairs window, and a strange man hopping through it when she was breastfeeding. I think he was as frightened and confused as she was at the unexpectation of people, though I did stand with hammer poised, just in case he had ill intentions. I’m not really sure I could have hit him, but certainly I looked menacing enough with weapon in hand and at the ready. Dor allowed him to pass and as soon as he was safely away from Gina and child, went after him, but the stranger got away. I doubt that he’ll be back.

But I was in for another surprise when I returned to the small apartment in the Garden District. Of all people Cain was waiting for me.

He looks different, older, tired, weary from whatever he’s been doing for the last several months. I had thought he’d come for Charm, who he wasn’t suppose to return for until the season turned cold. He hadn’t though.

I’ve been doing well, for the most part. I’ve been able to keep my emotions under control, I’ve been keeping busy and I’ve been trying to move on. I never really know how hard that is, until I see him again. It’s no secret that I will always love him, that I have always loved him, but love has never been an easy road for us, and Cain has never been an easy man. Tonight was no exception.

When he kissed me, I was torn by the want.. the need to pull away, to disappear. How easy it would be to simply give myself over to familiarity, but I’m no longer the woman I was. I’ve changed, I’m different, and I’m afraid my metamorphosis is not a comely one. I confessed. I broke, I fell to the floor in a puddle of undiluted emotions and wept like the woman who had left the faire not so long ago. He told me I should have known better before I bedded Lucian, that I should have know what would happen. I could not disagree. My contract of trust had been verbal. Not that I think it would have made any difference.

He told me he loved me. Cain still loves me, even after what I have done.

But will he still love me when he sees what's inside of me?

Objects in the mirror were more fragile than they appeared. The mirror has shattered now and I am the slivers of glass that are chaotically concealed within the bloodstained furs.

Together we have played the lead roles in a lover’s lullaby, trying time and time again to fix a relationship built on passion and providence. I’ve never been good at denying him, and the only time in my life that I have ever told him no was when I carried another man’s child. And tonight.

How strange that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Independence Day

I believe in signs. The way the wind blows the turning of a leaf to its underside before a great storm or the bad luck of a black bird tapping at the glass of a window, leading to a loved one’s death. I am a superstitious woman who often finds comfort in folklore, I think because it leads to so many other possibilities.

I’ve been helping Gina with her new shop, chasing down spiders with brooms and freeing the floors from dust , debris and rodents. I have actually been enjoying the work, the laborious tasks keeping my mind away from guilty thoughts. There is normalcy in chores and I’m finding I like the camaraderie of sharing the opinions of another woman, something that has been sorely lacking in my life. I never realized how much I missed it, because it was something I’ve never really had. Until now.

Charm and I have been living in one of the small downstairs apartments in Maayan’s Garden District building, paid with by what I earn at readings. I’ve even started to furnish it, slowly but surely, making it as much as a home for Charm and myself as I possibly can. Maybe one day, Mia will even be allowed to visit. I think of her often but I don’t hear the cries in the middle of the night like I did with my son. I guess that’s because I know she’s well taken care of. I miss her.

Although I’m still trying to put my life back into some semblance of order, avoiding men at all costs, and I do have my lingering bouts of melancholy, I am surviving. Maybe for the first time in my life I’m leaning towards a certain independence and I have a feeling that things will all work out in the end.

Because..
I believe in signs.

Fairy God Mother

Within the depths of despair there is always a silver lining, one often over looked if we are not careful. After receiving the note from Gina on the birth of her son, I had decided to visit, unannounced, carting a wagon through the streets that held the gift I had wanted to give her. I had yet to thank her for the things that she had sent Mia.


She seemed genuinely concerned for my well being, even offering me a shoulder to should I need to talk. I’m not ready yet, to divulge the full extent of my feelings to anyone, and though I declined, I know that if I need it, the offer still stands.


I had bought her a bassinette so that she would not have to tote basket, or crib around. I had found that with Charm, it was nice to have one in another room for convenience’s sake, and though my coin is dwindling, with the gift also sent to Rami and Nash for their companionship, I knew I needed to practical. The present was not elaborate, nor were the diapers, only the silver rattle in the shape of a crescent moon which I had bought for Mia sometime back, one that I would no longer need.


I don’t completely understand it, we having not spent that much time together, which is why I probably looked the gaping fool at her question. She asked me to be her child’s.. to be Cayden’s god mother.


I accepted, eventually, when I could find the words to do so.


I’m not sure if my returning to AR was a good idea or not yet. I still have my reservations. I’ve lost so much here, but I cannot seem to pull myself away. It’s always been home, despite the pain it has given me and I always find myself coming back, even though I know little awaits me here.


I didn’t talk for hands after returning to Caithris, most of my time spent in the company of Charm, who I now feel the fierce need to protect from the world around her. Despite what some might think, she is still a child and very vulnerable. Maay has promised that she will help me, help her to understand.


And me? I have promised to learn to cook something besides stew. I’ve also promised to help Charming study her ongoing fascination with plants. Maayan has a leech plant named Lavideous and now my daughter thinks she needs one as well. My sister assures me that if kept down to a single stalk and not allowed to multiply, it can actually come in quite handy. I still said no, perhaps the first time I have ever denied my daughter anything.