Mother

Her father was a woodworker, she never knew her mother as she had died in childbirth.  He had a built a small house far outside the village for them, in the barn, shared with one old horse,  he would create the most inspiring pieces of furniture and wood sculptures.   Little Annia would stand by him and hold his brushes and polishing cloths.  She loved her father and thought the sun rose every day because of him,  In kind, she was his world, his inspiration in every thing he created.    Once every few months a horse drawn carriage would come up to the shed and Annia would be sent to the house each time.  Although she was a very curious child she did what she was told.  She would sit and watch from the window as, with each visit, he would carry out a small table or a pair of chairs, all but this time.  She could see him speaking to whomever was in the carriage, scratching notes on a scrap piece of wood with a piece of charcoal and as he stepped back he would nod and bow just before the carriage moved away.  This was the usual dance each time. As the carriage drove off he walked back to the house and ruffled Annia's hair as they went inside for lunch..

From the day she was born, her grandmother would make the long walk from the edge of the forest, where she lived in a small home of her own.  She knew how hard it would be for her son-in-law to raise a baby alone and had promised her daughter that she would watch over her baby.  "What did he want this time" she would ask as she placed the stew on the table.

He would serve, placing a generous spoonful in each bowl and tear off a piece of the fresh bread and hand it to Annia.  "A box."  he would take a piece of bread for himself and look up at her and shake his head slightly.  "He made me swear to not tell anyone about it."  he would eat and lower his eyes toward the bowl.

Annia would imitate her father when he took a bit, she took a bite, If he wiped his mouth, she would do the same.  Usually this amused him and made him laugh but not this day.  This day everything changed.  She was like her mother, she could feel his emotions, smell the change in the air around him but she was too young to understand why.

For the next month he would work night and day in the barn.  Her grandmother, at this point, had all but moved into the house to care for them both. "Annia.  Take this plate to your father"  she would call out.  Annia had  looked forward to this time of day as she missed helping him, holding his brushes, missed being asked if she thought it was done or her opinion.  Each time she would come close...  "Annia, leave the plate on the bench and go back in the house" he would say every time before she could see him or what he was working on.  She complied and ran back to her grandmother with the saddest face a happy child could possess.  She missed him, she had not seen him, not hugged him, he didn't tuck her into bed and tell her stories anymore.

"Grandmother?  Why won't father let me help.. I am a good helper, he has told me so."   she would cry to her  

"He is working on something special for The Family.  It must be exact and perfect." she would reply before changing the subject.  "Let's make you a new dress."  stroking the girls hair.  "We will make it pink to match your hair, would you like that?" 

Annia's bright green eyes would brighten as she smiled.  "Yes Grandmother, very much"

Days went by and she had become the helper to her grandmother as she had been to her father. Gathering the ingredients for supper, picking herbs and flowers, anything that was asked of her she did with a mile.  The dress was beautiful, pink with lace and she couldn't wait to show her father.  The day the carriage returned she would put on her dress as her grandmother braided her long hair.  As the carriage rolled up she stepped out the front door of the house so that he could see her and be happy.  She watched him walk out of the barn carrying the large wooden box.  She knew he would be sore if he had seen her but she wanted to see it so much that she moved closer, staying behind some overgrown bushes.   As he approached the carriage door would open, she could not see inside but could hear a mans voice.  "Is it as I instructed?"  the voice would grumble.  Her father only answered with a soft "Yes Sire" and held it out to him and bowed his head. Then the man stepped from the carriage, He was tall, dressed in black with a cloak which shadowed  his face.  This was the first time she felt it.  A coldness, the taste of something rancid  in the air.  She would notice the look on her fathers face from her angle of vision; fear.   His head still bowed as the man said "Show me"  with that her father pulled on the small figurine on top of the lid then spun it twice.  The front panel popped open showing a hidden drawer.  "Very good the man would say once more in a deep unemotional tone.  The man took the box and pushed the drawer back and closed the placed the figure back in its original position and climbed back into the carriage then tossed a gold coin on the ground at her fathers feet.  Her father had lifted his head.  "It was agreed Five gold sire"  with those words she heard a grumble and then saw a darkness emanate from the window of the carriage and envelop her father.  By the time she ran out of her hiding spot the carriage was gone as was the cloud.

"Father, Father" she would cry she saw as his body crumpled to the ground.

Grandmother came running from the house, she knew what had happened and cradled Annia in her arms as he lay on the ground staring at the sky silent.


It was nearly a week since the her father had fallen into his waking sleep when his eyes closed for the last time. Annia had sat by his bedside in her new pink dress day and night, she lay her head on his chest and sing to him, stroke his hand, tell him the stories that he used to tell her every night. The news traveled fast throughout the village and people came to pay their respects and help bury him.  They all knew what had happened, The Family had done this, for whatever reason, was unimportant as most of the pain they inflicted was for their own amusement it seemed.  Heartbroken over her father's death she and her grandmother packed up their belongings, as little as there were, and left the home which they had been so happy in.  The small cottage on the outskirts of the forest was remote and far from any sight of the looming castle on the hill, which was once a awe-filled sight, but now was a remineder of grief and pain.  The cottage consisted of one large room with a divider which allowed her grandmother some privacy and a loft which Annia used as her own space.  In the corner was a trunk made of carved wood that her father had made for her when she was born,  her name adorned the lid in fancy letters.  This is where she kept her most precious things; an old sketch of her mother, the brushes she once held out to her father as she watched him work and that pink dress she wore that dread filled day.  She had locked all of these items away along with a few more keepsakes that she had found among her fathers belongings before everything was sold off to strangers.

As Annia grew up she would find happiness in the fond memories, the sadness buried in that trunk.  Grandmother was an old woman now and ventured beyond the front porch so infrequently.  She would send her out to collect herbs and flowers from the woods, berries and water from the nearby spring.  She was being taught how to use nature to mix everything from  poultices to simple potions.  

"You my darling are a natural"  her grandmother would tell her each day..  "Learn well and you will one day be a force of your own."

"Yes Grandmother" was all she would ever say in reply.  She loved her grandmother and would do anything that was needed.  Without her Annia would have no one and that time was nearing as time took its toll on her.

Each day, as the sun rose, she would take the woven basket and venture out into the woods.  This was her favorite time of the day as she would think of her father, his smile the one thing she could remember clearly about him after these ten years.  Long ago she had dragged a small wooden bench he had made and placed it by the stream.    It was here that she would listen to the birds in the tall trees and dream of one day traveling to the city.  It was this day she slip from her simple dress and hang it on a nearby branch and swim.  The water as blue as the sky, so clear as to see the small fish which swam around her almost playfully. This was her private place where no one else ventured.

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He had tethered his horse by a tree and took a canteen from his saddle bag.  As he drank he would hear singing.  Capping the canteen and replacing it in the satchel he wandered toward the beautiful voice.  This is when he would see her for the first time.  The beauty in the lake, The glinting of sunlight as it surrounded her, skin like porcelain, hair like the snow capped mountain.  Was he dreaming? he would think to himself as he hid behind the large bush of the Honey Berry.  The plant was at least five feet tall and kept him well hidden.  He watched with great admiration as floated in clear water and slowly out of his view.  It was then that he leaned forward trying to regain sight of her, that he lost his footing and fell into the bush.

"Who is there" she called out as she fought to cover herself with her arms.  She would try to scramble to the bank where her dress hung...  "Who is there." she would repeat a bit louder with a small thread of nervousness in her voice.

Getting to his feet, he would avert his eyes "A friend" he would respond, not knowing how else to classify himself.  "I was...  I was picking berries" would be his follow up explanation.   Stepping out farther, his head turned and eyes averted as she stumbled out of the water and pulled the dress over her body he would almost chastise himself for such an obvious lie of an excuse for him  watching her.

"Then turn and face me sir."  she had dressed and stood steady as she would try her best to sound firm and directed.  "Do you plan on baking a pie perhaps?  I see no basket in your arms"  She was unhappy that her solitude had been disturbed. 

He smiled and  took a step closer to her.  Slowly he would reach out and take hold of her hand, placing a kiss from upon her silken skin with a bow.  "I am Alexander.  My apologies for startling you miss"

Her hair wet and plastered to her face.  Her dress soaking up the water from her skin would drip to the ground but as he turned she would look at him her eyes would soften as she could almost see into him, see a kindness she had not known since she was a child.  She would feel her cheeks flush a bit as he kissed her hand, this was foreign to her.  She had little to no interaction with men, except those lecherous old men in the village who she would see on occasion when she went to gather supplies.  "I am Annia" is all she could manage to speak.

"A beautiful name for a most beautiful girl"