Loss , Love, and Fear, and Loneliness

As I sat with my dear friend Desideria, Desi as we call her, and King Markus himself outside the Inn in Mythos two of his daughters appeared. It was not a week ago that during the annual Wickerman Festival that his daughter Lilac was called as a sacrifice to the land. Some feel that she was not called as much as she sacrificed herself in an extreme way of committing suicide. Illyra and Micarla held nothing back placing blame upon the King for Lilacs death.

What does this have to do with me you might ask? Well, it was the obvious love for a family member and the anger that they held inside that dug deep into my memories. The memory of the murder of my parents and my dearest brother Adam. It is not the same as I was so very young at the time, maybe 6 or 7 years old when this happened. But the anger that they felt at the loss of Lilac was confusing to me as I knew nothing of anger just the quiet and loneliness of being alone. Perhaps I should start with what I do remember of my family, which is not very much unfortunately. The memories would come back to me as pictures in an album, so much is jumbled and it has taken much concentration to be able to organize the thoughts and pictures.

As I remember I see a slightly slimmer, shorter version of myself run through the garden after a small rabbit. I hear what I can only assume as my father's voice calling to me "Daphnie, come give this pot of beans to your mother." I can see ahead of me a tall stocky man with a thick beard and pale blue eyes as I approach him skipping and humming he hands me a cast iron pot filled to the rim with beans from the garden. I can hear my own voice answering as I grip the handle of the pot "Yes Father". As I take the pot I can feel his calloused hands and smell the the fresh pods of beans as I carry it into the small cottage. My father had built the stone and timber home when we had arrived in this place, The images of he and my brother working tirelessly through the chilly evenings. As I skipped into the large room holding out the pot toward a short lady with dark hair by the fire, her dark hair and eyes.

As I recall these memories i also see and feel joy and love. Even though I am not an empath, I do recognize the emotions. I was a happy child, or at least I was until that morning I awoke alone in my bed covered in a pink silk blanket cuddling a worn out stuffed frog. I remember that morning like it was yesterday, How no one was there to greet me with breakfast, how the absence of the aroma of my mothers perfume was nearly haunting. I remember climbing up on a chair reaching a box of grains off the shelf pouring them into a pot with some water placing the handle of the pot on the hook which hung from the stone above the fireplace. I was convinced they would return shortly as the fire still burned. I ate what I had cooked for myself and sat at the window waiting, Night fell as I had curled up with a blanket still by the window until i finally had fallen asleep. It was the next morning I learned what true fear and loneliness was.

I may have been young but was strong. My brother had taken me out hunting with him, against the wishes of my parents, but I learned how to gather food, what roots to dig and what fruits were edible and which ones were not. At first I wouldn't stray to far from the small house knowing they would be back, that they would never leave me alone. But hours turned to days which then turned to a weeks, I was truly alone and somewhere in my mind I knew this as truth. The grain was gone and the garden had gone untended for too long and I knew I would have to venture further into the woods to search for something to eat. I remember following a path my brother had shown me and remember his instructions never to stray from it but I was hungry and food did not grow on the worn path I would have to go against his teachings. That morning was warm as I recall and i spotted the wild gallus birds and knew their nests should yield eggs. Mother had taught me how to cook them, as every spring father would bring a basket with him from his wanderings. I remember wandering far down the worn path, far from home before coming upon a small clearing in the trees. It is then that I found them. My mother, father and dearest brother Adam. From a distance they appeared to be sleeping but it was not until I moved closer that i realized this was not entirely true. They were lying among dried leaves. From that point on all I remember is screaming and running. I ran through the woods as fast as I could barely stopping at all until I realized I was truly lost. No sign of the path, the sunlight barely visible through the trees.

My next memory was of waking as the sun began to shine, curled up in a patch of tall grass. They were dead, never to return. Mother had told me stories of her parents, as how they had died, sleeping to never wake again. This is what had happened to her family. They were to sleep and never wake.

Linking back to the events of last night I felt saddened as if I was losing my family all over again. Until recently Lady had been my entire family and then Emerald and Vlad. The King Markus and the Family Labyrinthe was my family now as Emerald has not returned and possibly will never return Lady and Vlad will always be but in some way these events triggered something in me, I knew it was time for me to learn who I was, to find something of my own.

Dreams of my childhood

As I doze off at my desk writing my thoughts and memories a recurring dream forms in my mind...


Laughter and giggles filled the grounds. A young girl of 4 years, her long platinum braids flopping behind her as skips and runs through gardens. A woman's voice is heard calling " Daphnie, come here child". Smiling, her bright green eyes shimmering in the sun, she turns and runs toward the voice.

A tall and beautiful lady with long platinum hair dusted with slight pink highlights and bright green eyes greets her with a hug and a kiss on her forehead, takes her hand and whisks her toward a door and down a long dark stairway. The child, skipping as she holds the hand of this woman Walking beside her, meanders briskly through the damp passageway lit only by the shimmering light of lanterns. The bright sunshine slowly beginning to appear ahead, the sound of horses clanging their bridles can be heard. The whispers of familiar voices can be heard as Daphnie pulls away from the hand holding hers. Running toward them, laughing and giggling. She is greeted by a tall, bearded man, swept up into his arms and placed in the carriage. Another kiss on the forehead and a brush on her cheek. The door of the carriage is closed and latched as voices can be heard softly outside.

As she reaches forward grabbing her favorite stuffed toy a woman and boy climb in beside her. "It's Ok Daphnie, you are going to come with us" the boy says. "Father and Mother are going to start a new life for us, you will see it will be great". Daphnie places her tiny hand in his, looks up at his smiling face she leans over placing her head on his lap. The sound of a whip cracking can be heard as a mans voice shouts "Ya, Yah" as the carriage pulls away with a heavy jerk. The carriage travels through the night as the horses pull with all of their might and speed. Daphnie, her head still on the lap of the boy sleeps, hugging tightly to her stuffed toy.

Upon daybreak she wakes to find herself alone, laying on the seat. As she lifts her head and peers around, hushed voices can be heard as the smell of a fire and food helps her wake... The carriage door opens to the smile of a small dark haired woman who lifts her from the carriage placing her on her feet, walking her over to the tent where she smiles at the boy who held her hand. Not saying a word, yet smiling as she reaches for his hand once again. From behind the tent a strong man dressed in dark cotton pants and a light woven top. "we will make our home through those woods there," he states,"on the other side of the tree line, we won't be detected there".

As I wake the vision of the bearded man and the the woman with the melodic voice haunts me as it seems to have done every night

Preface

As I write and chronicle my life I am forced to reach back into what memories I can grasp. Why now some may ask, what has brought on the urge to keep a diary, to write an autobiography so to speak? It has all to do with the love of my life, a man who many deemed dangerous to me. The search that had ended with me becoming a hermit, locking myself away from the world, from the ones who loved me, from the pain of heartbreak. In my self seclusion my mind would only have memories to keep me company. Many of those memories were like flashes of light in a night sky but one moment seemed to be the trigger to the flood gates opening, the impending delivery of a trunk.

That day in the desert tavern when a stranger approached, a tall red headed man who was intrigued with the color of my hair. Something familiar he said. A feeling of comfort and protectiveness like no other came over me. As you who reads this will clearly see why this is an important moment. Weeks had gone by and many conversations were had impelling him to quest for some answers on my behalf.

Not three months after that initial meeting, he had returned from his long quest bearing a sack of fruits and berries reminiscent of what was once the only home I knew. With him, and his apprentice, was also an old wooden chest which had yet to be unloaded from the ship. There have been many occasions to which he could have given the chest and it's secretive contents to me but, i suppose, in my own fear of opening deep wounds I had avoided the chest, delving into what would be found, the inevitable.

These memories are what now lead me to chronicle what I remember, for my children, so maybe one day they would understand why I had to leave them so early in their lives