the 100th room

keepingsilence @ 2004-11-05T01:08:00

2004-11-05T09:25:19Z

6,272 / 50,000
(12.0%)

Arden turned the little wooden frog over and over in his hands. Laurel had shyly handed it to him a few days before but he'd been so preoccupied with his thoughts, and the impending loss of his only daughter, that he'd hardly glanced at it. Realizing this suddenly, he stood and went to find Laurel who was playing in the cabin's spacious yard. Asper had built a treehouse with the help of his father a few years back, and it still stood strong on the low branches of a solid, old tree. This was where Laurel was at the moment, playing with a cloth doll. Arden listened to her solitary make-believe for a moment.
"No, save me!" Laurel then dropped her voice an octave to sound fierce. "I'll save you, miss Flower!" Then some clumping sounds as she danced her doll and what sounded like a wooden figure across the floor of the treehouse. "You saved me, beast! Thank you!" "Yes, now we shall dance." More clumping sounds.
Arden smiled to himself. She was playing out the fable of the Rose and the Beast. He knocked once on a wall of the treehouse, and she peeked out a window. "Hi dada."
"Hi there, little Laurel. Are you busy?"
"No, dada. The Beast and Flower were just dancing, but they're tired now." She dropped her toys and clambered down the rope ladder of the treehouse. Hugging her father's leg, she said "Is it my birthday yet?"
Arden shook his head. "No, darling. It's tomorrow. I wanted to talk to you about this frog you made." He held it to her and her eyes dropped.
"You don' like it." Laurel said no more, but she'd been expecting happy thanks when she'd given it to her father, and only gotten a nod.
"No, no, I love it, daughter. That's what I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry for being quiet the past few days. Don't worry about it, okay?"
Laurel smiled and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. All was right with the world now, and she hugged her father's leg again, then ran into the cabin to see what was for lunch. Arden realized his hand not holding the carving was in a fist, and he relaxed it. This was harder than he'd thought it would be. The years had flown by and somehow the husband and wife had loved their daughter despite knowing she was not by right theirs. Still, as superstitious people do, they accepted the word of the Lady and would not try to fight her when she came for their daughter. They knew it was no coincidence that the forest had refilled with animals and they themselves were blessed with good health since the deal was made.
Arden let out his breath in a sigh and followed his daughter into the cabin to eat.

The morning of Laurel's seventh birthday, Dimanda woke early and took her daughter down to the river to wash the laundry. Laurel grumbled a little, thinking she should have been let off her chores for her birthday, but Dimanda didn't want her to work, really. "I just wanted to talk to you, honey," she said gently as she laid out Arden's clothes from the trip. They were dark with road-grime and dust.
"'Bout what?" Laurel asked, already forgetting her complaints and picking up some wash-clothes to scrub against a rock.
"About...about today, my darling. I have to tell you a story."
Dimanda hadn't consulted Arden about telling Laurel anything. They'd just decided to let Laurel be until the last moment, when the Lady in Black came to take her away. But Dimanda had been awake all night (So had Arden, though she hadn't known) and had come to a decision.
"Today you will be going on a trip, my daughter. No, don't ask where, for I don't know. But listen, I know you will be okay. There is a woman, the Lady in Black, and she will take care of you. She took care of your father and me, and your brothers, oh, before you were born." Right before, she thought. "She wants you specially to come with her on this wonderous trip, because you are so clever and pretty."
Laurel soaked this all up slowly, and said nothing for a long time while she scrubbed the wash-clothes. "When will I be back?" She asked after a time.
"Oh, a few weeks, not long." Dimanda lied, not knowing at all what the Lady in Black had planned for her daughter. It was tearing her up inside to lie so blatently to her innocent child, but she wanted to help somehow. She couldn't stand the idea of the Lady showing up suddenly, and Laurel screaming with fear, not knowing why she was leaving.
As if reading her mind, Laurel asked, "Why am I going?"
Dimanda closed her eyes briefly and steeled herself for another lie. "Because it's your birthday, love. You're to be treated well...like a princess!"
The little girl listened to her mother's tone with unease. Dimanda seemed quite beside herself, almost hysterical in her need to reassure Laurel all was well. Shrugging her shoulders, not comprehending really at all what she'd been told, she asked to be allowed to go wake her brothers. Dimanda nodded and the girl walked back towards the house. Her mother watched her go.

Laurel didn't mention her conversation with her mother to the rest of her family members, and neither did Dimanda. It had put a bad taste in Laurel's mouth, and as children tend to do with things that disturb them, she put it out of her mind. This was easily done, actually, when the twins presented her with her set of the Seven Lucky Animals. She squealed and jumped up and down, then relaxed in her appreciation to handle them gently, turning them over and over to get a sight of all the tiny details the twins had put into them. The Cat had slit pupils in his miniscule eyes, and the Deer had spots carved out near his wooden hind quarters.
From Aien she was given a bag of candied nuts, and from Asper the small carving knife she'd first learned to whittle on. These also pleased her, and she gathered all her presents from her brothers up in her arms and took them to the tree house. It wasn't hers, exactly, for her brothers had built it for themselves before she was born. However, it was small, too small too be comfortable for the boys, and so she had inherited it. The roof was built well, and insulated with bits of leftover leather and cloth from her mother's sewing projects. It had one window which in the winter she covered with a leather hide to keep warmth in while she was playing. In the tree house she kept her personal toys, special trinkets and rocks. She'd wanted to keep her only book, the book of Hero's Tales, there too, but her parents said not to on account of the chewing moths that sometimes came out of the trees to tear up leaves and, most likely, books left out of the house.
Under the light of a small lumpish candle in a metal bowl, Laurel lined up her Seven Lucky Animals and gazed at them for a while. She touched the deer, her immediate favorite. It was so graceful and dainty, it's head cocked slightly to the side as though it had been startled from a peaceful moment by a sound somewhere in the forest.
The thought brought Laurel back to reality. Her mother's words came back to trouble her; she would be going somewhere today. She didn't know when and had hoped that if she didn't ask, maybe it wouldn't happen.
Not that Laurel would have been averse to a trip somewhere. In her seven years she had hardly left the woods and was interested in the world. But the way her mother had spoken had shook her a little. The happy tone she'd used hadn't reached her eyes. In a flash of intuition, she took the deer figurine and wrapped it in a bit of leather insulation she tore down from the roof of the fort. On second thought she added the knife and candies her brother had given her. Might as well pack for an adventure, she thought.
The house bell rang and she peeked out her window to see her brothers coming into to the house for dinner. Tucking her small pack of treasures into the ribbons tied around her waist, she scrambled down the ladder and joined her family for her birthday dinner.

Later, her mother helped her into her birthday dress. Dimanda had spent weeks sewing it after Laurel had fallen asleep. It was short, for the weather was becoming warmer, and simple, but lovely. Arden had brought back the fabric, white cotton speckled with tiny strawberries, back from a trip to the villages.
Laurel loved it. It was beautiful to her young eyes, the fanciest thing she owned. She felt though, that she was onyl recieving it because she was to go on a trip.
"Mama, when am I leaving?" She asked when her dress was all tied and her pack of treasures put into a front pocket.
Dimanda tried not to wince at the question. "I don't know, love." Any more she couldn't say.

The Castle was immense, and dark, and frightening. Laurel crouched inside the front hall, not interested in venturing further into the interior. She was weeping, a steady, slow outpouring of tears unlike anything she'd felt before. Usually her crying was an outburst, loud and strong, and usually had someone running to see what was the matter, had she skinned her elbow, or been stung by a bee. These crying fits were always there and gone in minutes, except for once when her brother Asperh had shouted at her for eating his share of the dried jerky one winter. She'd cried for what seemed like hours in her bed, feeling guilty.
This was nothing like those times. She leaned against the front door of the Castle, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face down. Grief was pouring over her, through her, in waves. It felt almost like a pulse, a steady ache as tears streamed down her face, her mouth most likely in a grimace. As happens to people sometimes in a state of extreme emotion, Laurel felt almost detached from her sadness and terror, watching herself grieve as though she was another person. The saddest thing, she realized, was the sense of empathy she had for this person she felt she was watching. Poor girl, poor little child, she thought. This girl has just lost her family, her home, her safety, herself. These thoughts caused her mind, her heart and body, to shudder through another pulse of agony, of sadness, and fresh tears flowed down her face.
A long, long time went by. The little girl's sadness did not end, but after a time numbed enough that she was able to feel something else; fear. The Castle's darkness was not the welcoming, shielding dark of the wild woods. There were no stars peeking at her between thick tree branches. This was darkness like she'd known only with her covers over her head on cold nights. Staring straight ahead of her, into the hallway, nothing could be seen. It was night but no moonlight shown in through the windows in the front receiving room.
She must have dozed at some point, and memories of a few nights before came to her in her dreams. Her mother and father's tearful faces, last embraces, and her brother Asper shouting at them as the coach the Lady in Black arrived in drove away again. She remembered his words for they carried to her ears on the wind. "What have you done?! You sold her, didn't you?"
The weather around the coach had been thunder and lightning, and torrents of rain had come down as the black horses pulling it had been whipped into motion. Laurel remembered sobbing then, hard and frightened as a child, hands over her face. This was what she had expected but not hoped for. Her mother's tone when she'd told Laurel was perfect for this situation.
After a time her crying had stopped and she'd glumly looked out the window, too intimidated by the silent woman who looked like royalty and a witch from her Hero Books rolled into one. The land flew by, and she boggled for a time at the fields and towns where hardly any trees grew, where people lived close together and shouted to each other. The coach stopped in none of these places, not for hours, and Laurel felt uncomfortable after a time, wishing to eat and stretch and relieve herself. She said nothing to the woman though, waiting to be addressed. It wasn't until the next morning, when Laurel awoke, cramped, as the carriage stopped at an Inn.
The lady spoke to her for the first time. Her voice was sweet and kind, which surprised Laurel. "Well, little golden-curls, we can rest here for a time." A pause and she looked at the child from behind a black veil tumbling down from the hat she wore, made what looked like a black stuffed swan. "How...are you feeling?"
Laurel found herself needing to clear her throat. She did and answered "Fair enough, ma'am. I'm hungry though." She dared not say more to the imposing Lady. Laurel hadn't thought herself to be a shy maiden like in the tales, but this was one of the first people she'd ever met that was not her own family. This scared her more than she'd been prepared for.
"As am I," the grand lady answered. "We will eat here, and rest for a time, before coming to your Castle."
Laurel held onto those words as they ventured into the Inn, a noisy, warm room full of more people than Laurel had ever seen. She shrunk back and stayed close to the woman, who seemed not to notice her terror. The Lady ordered a table for them and while they waited for food to come, she led Laurel to the washroom. When they came back a pile of meat and bacon, and large bowls of fragrant potato soup were waiting for them. Laurel ate and the food was good, though nothing she hadn't had at home. It put her a little more at ease, and she ate two helpings. Leaning back for a while, she felt herself dozing off.
She woke later in the carriage while it bounced along a rough road. The Lady was sitting across from her, eyes closed though not seeming asleep; her body wasn't relaxed and she sat straight up. Laurel peeked out the windows and saw they were in an empty land; a long stretch of gray field stretched out before her. Where could they be going. The Lady had mentioned a castle.
With this thought her dreams shifted, shattered and broke. She woke where she was curled, still at the inside doorway of the Black Castle. Her face was stiff with dried tears.
She remembered what had happened at the gates. The Lady had helped her down wordlessly from the coach and spoke the most she had ever to the little girl.
"Golden-curls, this is your castle. You will live here, alone, for seven years, and then I will come visit you again." The girl had opened her mouth, wanting to wildly protest but the Lady had waved off her words with a curt gesture, and she'd shut her mouth again, hoping for better news as the Lady in Black continued speaking.
"Seven years, child. You will see me again when you are fourteen. Now listen. This Castle has one hundred rooms, and you are free to go into any of them, except the last. It is the highest room in the Castle, at the top of a long stair. You won't stumble into it accidentally. But do not go into this room, little golden-curls." Laurel wondered absently beneath her fear why the woman did not call her by her name. Later she remembered no one had told the Lady what Laurel's name was. "Now understand me, this Castle will take care of you. Everything you need is here. You are a princess now, child, and can behave as one and expect things to go your way here. However, you cannot leave. Don't try, it won't work. And if you enter the hundreth room, your soul is forfeit. Remember."
The Lady took Laurel's hand in hers and led her through courtyard towards the giant doors of the entrance. She lay her long, pale hand flat on the surface of the black-painted wood and the doors swung inward, with a loud creaking sound that caused the child to start in terror. The Lady led her inside, then turned to go without another word.
"Wait, please!" Laurel screamed, and the words echoed through the empty castle.
Incredibly, the woman turned and looked at the child.
"I...Why?" Laurel begged, her voice cracking. "I'm to be alone here? I want to go home, please!"
The Lady in Black shook her head. "You are here because your family sold you. Did they not tell you of my meeting with your father?" At Laurel's blank look she shook her head once more. "A pity. I'm sorry, child, but you are to be this Castle's princess. Goodbye, golden-curls. I will see you in seven years. Remember my warning." With those words she walked swiftly out the doors, and they swung shut even as Laurel raced towards them. She pounded on them, and pulled at the handles, but she did not budge.

keepingsilence @ 2004-11-03T00:01:00

2004-11-03T08:19:34Z

day two. only 1561 words today, but i feel like hell and i've not gotten much sleep the last few days. so yeah. i'm not worried though. i think i'll probably go over 2000 tomorrow; i've got the day off and i will probably stay home, seeing as that motherfucker bush is winning, and i won't want to leave the house when he fucking takes office AGAIN.
anyway.
i am a bad, bad writer when i am rushing it. i know this. thanks for reading anyway.

They'd decided not to tell any of the children about the arrangement. Arden and Dimanda couldn't think of anything they could say that would soften the blow Laurel would recieve on her seventh birthday and so deigned to let her live her years with them in peace.
Dimanda had several times after Laurel's birth tried to suggest to Arden that they leave, hide Laurel and hope the Lady never was able to claim her. It was not to be though, because Arden had seen the Lady appear and then vanish again, and knew she had power he did not understand. He didn't even know if she was royalty or a spectre of the wood. He owed her for saving his family and he was not a man to go back on his word.
He hadn't counted on loving Laurel as much as he did though. At first he'd tried to maintain an indifference about her, but she was affectionate and charming in a way only girlchildren can be. After the four boys it was a surprise. And she loved him, and her mother, and her brothers very much.
Now, as she and the twins walked to the cabin, they could see their father unloading his cart with the help of Asper and Aein. "Who won?" Matteo asked, smiling as his father gave him a one-armed hug, his healthy hand grasping a leather bag which held some kind of surprise.
"Asper, of course," Aein smirked good naturedly at the eldest brother who was unhitching the horse Leafeater from the cart.
"Maybe next time you'll beat me," Asper said. "You were close, right behind me."
Their father said nothing, just shook his head and reached down with his now-free arms to lift his little daughter up and kiss her forehead. "And you, my girl, how are you? Did you miss me?"
"Yes!" she giggled and snuggled close to him. Her father, gone often, was less an authority figure to her and more of a mythical beast, though a lovable one. One that gave presents. "What did you bring me, dada?"
"Oh, you'll all see soon enough. Why don't you all run along for a bit? I'm going to see your mother; she must be hard at work on something in the house, for she hasn't come out to greet me." He set Laurel down and she smiled back at him, going into the house and up the ladder that led to the bedroom she shared with her brothers. The dim light in the room enveloped her welcomingly and she hopped to her bedroll. Next to it she kept a little metal box which her father had made before she was born. She flipped it's lid open and took out a lumpish wooden frog she'd carved. She'd carved it for her father while he was gone. Asper had, in a rare display of interest in his little sister, had sat her down in the yard one day and taught her to whittle. He praised her when she'd finished her first carving without cutting herself, though in the making of the frog her fingers had not gone unscathed.
She hopped the toy frog about her blankets for a little while. She thought about her birthday, coming up soon. Her father must have brought wonderful things for her from the towns. He did every year.
Though since Laurel's birth the family had experienced wealth and good fortune, they did not move from the little cabin. It was three days from the nearest villages and a week from the big cities. Laurel had been to one of the villages once before, but never the cities. Asper had on several occasions gone with his father to the cities, and came back with stories of wonders the others could hardly dream of. The twins Matteo and Thorn had decided that someday they would leave the little cabin and make their fortunes in the city, or perhaps just one of the larger villages. They didn't relish the idea of being stuck in the woods with their family for years and years more, as much as they loved them. In the forest there was beauty and fun to be had, but they knew the city would offer them more. Asper spoke little of his plans, though he was getting to the age when he should marry and find his way in the world. Little Laurel knew nothing about a marriage which had been arranged between Asper and a girl in the nearest village, knew nothing either of her other brothers' plans to leave the woods someday. She was content with her place in the cabin, in the forest, at the edge of the world. Almost seven, she felt she could stay home forever.

On the floor level of the cabin, the twins were working, in a partitioned corner, on a present for their sister's birthday. Seven was a special number, they knew, full of mystery and symbolism, and as such they were carving a little set of the Seven Lucky Beasts. They'd split the work between them, three each and the seventh collaborated on. Thorn was a better carver than Matteo, who's work tended to be a little splintery and rough, but Matteo had a better eye for the art. His animals, the Deer, the Swan, and the Cat, all had a sensitive grace about them, all arched necks and, though a little more crudely whittled, artistic style. Thorn had carved the Bear, the Owl, and the Boar. They'd split the work on the Dragon, which was larger than the others by at least half.
Carving animals was a past time all the children in the family enjoyed. For some reason it was all that inspired them; attempts at carving other things, non animate or human, had all met with snapped wood, cut fingers, and slivers.
So over the mantle of the fireplace stood a small army of random animals. Most of the animals had been copied from pictures in books their father had bought after Laurel was born. He had been poor, but as a child he'd been educated. Those were richer times and the children of the villages were all welcome in the schoolhouse. By the time his wife had had the twins, however, times were dark, his crafts were being sold for less and less, and the animals had run from the forest. He'd sold his old books and had mourned their loss.
For Laurel as much as the boys, he'd replaced his old collection with new works, bright pages full of pictures of animals, people, far away places and all the good and bad Fairies that resided in the world still. Their mother read to them most nights aloud, for though their father could read, he didn't have the smoothness of voice that his wife possessed. She told them stories, and the children whittled the animal heros of many of these tales, and they were the decoration and centerpiece to the family's living area.
The children also had their own sets of toys and figures they'd made for themselves or been given. The twins were especially proud of this set they were creating for Laurel, for they'd been working on them for almost two months. The figures were a little smaller than they usually made them, but they'd decided in the beginning that that would be their challenge to themselves.
Asper and Aien were both fairly solitary boys, Asper more so. Aien being the youngest of the brothers had been picked on continually until Laurel was born; then he'd been basically forgotten about by his siblings for a time. Because of this, he acted out more than Asper ever had to get attention. He wasn't a bad boy, really, just a little snotty and with a quick temper. Asper was more prone to silences and walks in the forest alone. Still, the whole family got along well together, their brief spats and arguments always well talked out later on, apologies made, and cheeks kissed before bed.

Arden embraced his wife from behind, in the kitchen. "Why didn't you come to greet me?" He asked. "I rang the cart-bell."
"I'm sorry, dear. I must have just not heard it. I've been thinking all afternoon. Ask the boys, they'll tell you I've not been myself."
"And why haven't you?" Arden asked quietly, knowing the answer but needing to speak of it with her. They'd been avoiding the issue for some time and it wanted to aired.
"You know." She said, her voice clipped a little. "I don't know...if I can do this, Arden." Dimanda clutched him to her once more, reassured by her husband's arms around her. "I don't want to lose her."
"And neither do I, my love." Arden said softly, gravely.
"What do we tell her?" Dimanda broke away from him and went to the pot boiling over the fire. She stirred it nervously. "She'll be terrified." Tears were in her voice now.
"We tell her...we tell her the truth, dearest wife of mine." Arden's tone was hardened, pained. "After her birthday breakfast, willing she's still with us then. We'll tell her, and we'll tell her we love her, and then we'll tell her goodbye."
Dimanda sobbed softly behind her hand. Arden stood in the room, looking at nothing, his thoughts strangely cluttered and blank at once.

day one

2004-11-01T20:03:51Z

actually, i wanna do this a little differently.
1708 words today.

At the edge of the world a cabin had been built in a wild wood.
A blacksmith lived there with his wife and their children. His father and his father before him and had also lived in the cabin, and it was very much home to him. His work had required him to visit the nearest town once a week, and leaving his doorstep on those days was always hardest on him.
Today was raining, and on this day the blacksmith no longer wanted to live.
The times had been hard for years, with fewer and fewer customers for the blacksmith. Each time he went into town he returned with more of the goods he'd brought with him to sell. Eventually, his children fell ill and he tried to steal money to hire a doctor.
He'd been caught, and as punishment, his right hand had been broken beyond healing. Now, he was hopeless, his children starving, his wife gaunt but pregnant, her little child within her surely dead. The blacksmith had sadly bought a length of rope with his last five pennies. He'd numbly returned to the woods and set about tying a noose to hang himself. His injured hand which would not hold a blacksmith's hammer was equally in adept at looping rope. With his teeth and his left hand, he managed to tie one. He looked up at a large tree he had stopped in front of. It's golden leaves filtered sunlight down in patterns on his face. More leaves fell around him; fall was coming on.
He held the noose for a while, looking more through it than at it. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what to do other than this. There was no work and no food. The forest was strangely empty of animals in recent months and his plants had succumbed to a chewing beatle. His three sons were sick with a deep cough. His beautiful wife's face was pale and drawn. He couldn't watch it happen. He blinked, looking at the noose diectly again. Then, ready and resolved, he pulled his arm back to throw it over a tree branch.
A face looked around the trunk of the tree he'd been agonizing in front of. The blacksmith, startled out of his wits, stumbled backwards with a shout of alarm.
The face was a woman's. Her dark brown hair was pulled severely back from her face, her skin pale, her lips red. She stepped around from the tree and said "What are you doing?"
She was dressed spendourously. Atop her head was a hat made from what seemed to be a stuffed black swan. It's neck curled delicately around, as though it were bowing. Around the lady's pale throat a black ruffle streched down into a dress of such shining glossiness that the blacksmith knew she must be royalty. Boldly, the blacksmith said "What does it look like?" He raised the rope in his ruined hand and looked at her pointedly.
"Well, don't do it here! This is my land and it has no need of your corpse hanging around in it. Now go!"
The blacksmith, a little frightened, left the scene with his cart at once. He returned home and tried to sleep through the night, listening to his children cry from hunger, listening to them cough. His wife lay next to him, her breathing shallow.
The next morning the blacksmith set off again to kill himself. His family assumed he had gone to dig up some roots as he'd had to do before. He hid the rope in his jacket and bid his wife goodbye.
I'm going to do it, I am, I am, he thought as he made his way through the woods. Finding a sturdy tree, he set up almost half-aware.
The lady appeared before him in a violent swirl of leaves. They spun upwards golden and crackling in the strong wind that had risen. The blacksmith clutched his rope and stared at the lady. She pointed an angry finger at him. "I told you not to do this in my woods!"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I won't." Eyeing him, the lady in black turned her back on him and seemed to melt into the scenery. As soon as she was gone he began setting the rope up again.
A violent blow from behind him knocked the blacksmith to the ground. The woman in black stood above him though he'd just watched her vanish into thin air. "Don't toy with me, blacksmith." Her voice like deep silk anger.
"Well what can I do, Lady?" The blacksmith shouted from his place on the ground. "My family starves and I cannot help them. They are sick and weak, and so am I. Just let me die."
A long moment of silence passed and the lady seemed to shimmer, and the blacksmith thought he caught a glimpse of the night sky in the Lady's face.
"Listen to me," She said. "In your home is something precious which you have never seen. I will give you three bags of gold pieces of you give it to me."
The blacksmith laughed, once, loudly. "Very well! I have seen everything in my home, and if there is something there I have never seen, you are welcome to it!" The woman delivered into his unbeleiving hands, three bags of heavy solid gold pieces. "I will return for my payment in seven years't time."
The noose was left on the ground beneath the tree which grew majestic and high above the leaf-covered forest floor.
At home, the blacksmith burst through the front door, bursting to tell his family about their good fortune. He found them all huddled together in the bedroom, reached by a ladder above the fireplace. In his wife's arms was a baby.
"She was born not three hours ago," his wife whispered, stroking the infant's golden hair. "I've named her Laurel."
The blacksmith turned away from his beautiful new daughter in shame.

Chapter One

Laurel ran after her brothers, stumbling. Her bare foot landed on a sharp stone and she cried out. She was small for her age, just six years old. Her brothers, four of them, were all older than her by at least three years. The twins Matteo and Thorn, stopped at her cry and came back for her. Thorn smiled and bent down to look at her foot. Laurel pushed a blonde curl of hair out of her face and sniffled. "I wanna see daddy first," she whined softly. Thorn shook his head.
"Laurie, we race to see father each week. If you want to see him first, get faster than your brothers!" Matteo laughed at this and took Laurel's hand. Thorn took her other and they swung her around for a moment. When she was all smiles and little-girl giggles again they set her down and kept walking.
The cabin bell had rung not minutes ago, and the children playing in their special grove in the woods had looked up with grins on the faces and stood to run. Asper, the eldest brother, had gotten a head start and was most likely the first to the cabin, though the youngest brother Aein had been beating him to the house lately. They'd both taken off at amazing speeds, with the twins running behind them. Laurel could never keep up, but she knew somehow she wasn't meant to. She was a girl and the boys had already had their own rituals and customs, all rowdy and knee-skinning, by the time she was born.
She wasn't an outsider in the family, she knew that. Her brothers treated her kindly if a bit dismissively at times, and her mother and father loved her. She knew some sadness burdened them however, and she could feel it most when her father came to kiss her goodnight. He always seemed quieter then, and sometimes he would sit by her and sing to her softly as she rose the waves of sleep.
The siblings walked to the cabin, knowing that either Asper or Aein had won the race. They always raced to see their father return from his trips to the townships.
The boys knew that the birth of Laurel had brought good fortune to the family. The day they'd watched their mother sweat and heave in her bed was the day their father had brought home the bags of gold, a goofy grin plastered across his face. Only Asper remembered how the blacksmith's face had fallen when he'd spied the little girl in his wife's arms. Asper knew something was wrong with Laurel, and she was somehow connected to the money his father and gained.
Since that day they'd lived well. The blacksmith had immediately gone to the towns to hire a doctor for his coughing, hungry children, and to buy food, bread and meats for his gaunt and hungry wife.
It seemed the world celebrated their good fortune. The dark woods around the cabin seemed lighter that spring. The sun shone over it gladly and animals returned to the edge of the world. The blacksmith taught his sons to hunt and they all did their part to keep the cabin full of food and furs.
Laurel's mother, whose name was Dimanda, was beautiful. The five children she'd born had shaped her body and she was a solid, well proportioned woman. Her long straw colored hair was often tied up in a bun though she could never seem to get it all, and strands fell charmingly around her face. The day she had Laurel she had thought she was going to die. She had been weak and hungry and the pain had been excruciating. She remembered her heart leaping with joy when her husband returned, his black hair sweaty and plastered to his face as if he too had been in labor for hours. When she had realized their fortunes had changed, she looked at her new daughter with new eyes. The little girl seemed to glow, seemed heaven-sent.
Later that night, quietly and apart from the children, the blacksmith, (his name was Arden) told Dimanda that he had sold their daughter to the Lady in Black. In seven years, Laurel would be hers.

keepingsilence @ 2004-10-31T23:20:00

2004-11-01T07:36:21Z

testing the layout. woot!