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Piercing cries echo in Fey manor. It’s the middle of the night. No one is here. And no one is coming.
Two-year-old Maya is crying her eyes out as she tries to express exactly what’s wrong. She’s clearly distressed. Mia gathers that much from the tears, the fussing and the same attempted syllables being uttered endlessly, but the only coherent sound that Mia hears is that of her own heart breaking.
Maya has never been a very articulate toddler. Mia’s mother used to understand everything she said when Mia could only guess. But now, Misty Fey is gone, Maya is crying, and Mia has never struggled more in her life than she is right now.
Maya is growing increasingly frustrated at not being understood and the tear in Mia’s heart is growing wider at every failed interpretation, at every shake of Maya’s head followed by more foreign sounds, words that now, only Maya can understand.
“Please, Maya. Calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Mia does her best so her voice sounds calm and steady but the words only come out as a tired and desperate plea.
Maya hiccups and the sobbing comes to a hopeful halt. She looks like she’s going to explain and Mia’s heart skips a beat when she stares into Maya’s big, teary eyes. There’s hope. There’s recognition. There’s gut-wrenching distress too. But then Maya’s bottom lip wobbles and she goes back to loud, piercing wails.
It’s a complete and utter failure. Mia feels her shoulders slump and she drops her head in a quiet, defeated sigh.
This is too much.
She can’t do this.
Whatever Maya is trying to say, Mia hears something else, a truth she already knows and that keeps her up at night. You’re not doing good enough. You can’t go on like this. Maya will not be fine. You need help. Help is never going to come. You’re all alone. You’re all alone. You’re all alone. And you can’t even be here for your baby sister.
The cries echo Mia’s, the ones she’s hiding inside her own heart.
On these dark, cold nights, Maya is alone because Mia can’t understand her. On these dark, cold nights, Mia is alone because everyone else has left her.
Mia rubs her eyes and lets her heavy eyelids rest for a second. She’s tired. It’s the middle of the night, and she can’t say she’s had much sleep since Misty Fey left the village, kept up by haunting whys and what ifs. The lack of sleep is starting to catch up with her, and now that she’s out of her bed, the cold is creeping in. Mia can feel a headache coming on and the loud screams aren’t helping. For an instant, for the briefest of instants, Mia considers walking away. Eventually, Maya would calm down on her own, wouldn’t she?
On her own.
Overwhelming shame seizes Mia and she shifts her sister on her lap, bringing her closer. She places a reassuring hand on her sister’s back, lets her know she’s here and not going anywhere.
She won’t let Maya know how it feels when you’re left alone and suddenly you have to be everything and more because you’re the last thread your family is hanging on by. How it feels when you’re all alone, begging for the world to stop, for just a second to breathe when everything keeps spinning madly fast. How it feels when your heart is ripped apart and taken away somewhere you can’t follow.
Maya can’t know how it feels. And it’s Mia’s role to make sure of it.
“Maya, please calm down,” Mia says. There are more whining, more half-formed words on Maya’s end as she buries her face in Mia’s neck. ”Please, I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t…”
I don’t understand why she left. I don’t know why she’s gone. I can’t understand. I don’t understand anything. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Will I ever?
Mia can’t hold it anymore. The sobs make their way out of her heart, where she desperately tried to hold them in. She curls up and holds Maya tight.
And so, they both weep.
Maya will never remember this night or any other of the like. She will never remember how hard she cried on those sleepless nights, how exhausted and down and upset her sister was. She’ll never remember Mia begging her to stop crying while being a sobbing mess herself. She’ll never remember the quiet reassurances Mia uttered in the dead of night, never quite sure who to. You’ll be fine. You’ll be okay.
But Mia will forever remember the frustration. The guilt. The wide open wound on her heart when she realized she was not up to the task and the burn from the salty tears of her baby sister on her skin. Mia will forever think about that night.
Years later, when she leaves the village and her sister behind.
Years later, when Maya shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night, upset and her face wet with sweat and tears.
And one final time when the statue strikes down and Mia goes somewhere where Maya can’t follow. On her own.
But for now, they are together. For now, they have each other and that’s all they have. So, Mia makes one last attempt.
“Please, Maya.” Don’t cry. “Please.” Let us be okay. “Please.” I can’t do this. “Please.” Make it stop.