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“I ran away from home once!”
You remember it as clearly as yesterday. Why wouldn’t you? That night, the Universe led you out of your bedroom window and to the ocean separating your island from the world. Everyone reacts with the appropriate level of shock to your admission, but Mirabelle asks for the reason. You don’t even have to think about it.
“I just didn’t want to eat my veggies.”
Maybe it was a bit silly, sure, but it made sense at the time! In typical kid fashion, you felt a hundred percent justified in your reasoning. It didn’t matter to you that your favorite food is full of them, not when your plate was of potatoes. You can tolerate them now, sure—okay, well. For Bonnie's sake, at the very least. But as a child... Absolutely not! Gross. You refused to even look at them, instead focusing on your parents' betrayal by including any. Probably not the cool kid image Isa was thinking of.
“And so I took our boat!”
A small but reliable one that your parents had made before you were born. It seemed huge to you the first time you remember boarding, the sturdy walls of mahogany planks just over your height as a toddler. By the time you ran away, it seemed just your size. Like it was made for you. The star in your chest flared every time you set sail, whether by yourself or with your family. Even with it all being for the sake of the bit, that night wasn't any different.
“Got to the beach, rowed away from the shore a bit.”
The lightless coast stretched out endlessly like the Universe, a reflection of the night sky starting to sprawl above. Stars watched from their place there as you made your way down the familiar path across the shore. Even with the chill of the dark sand between your toes, the salt-scented wind running through your hair, your cloak kept you as warm as the blanket you should have been under. The moon was kind to you that evening, blessing you with calm waters as you reached your ship. Conditions were ideal, though you only needed them for the short while that you’d be out.
“I was going to come back right away, I just wanted to scare my parents a bit!”
You bounced on your feet out of sync with the calm rocking as you thought of how they'd react. You'd never actually leave, of course—you love your family! But good pranks take time, so you had to lie in wait for them: to learn of your absence, to notice you weren't in your room or the house, to form just a basic level of worry. In that time, you couldn't stop yourself from grinning with mischief. That'd show them! And then they'd ruffle your hair, gently chide you for scaring them but with warm smiles that'd show that it didn't matter as long as you were back home and safe. And the next day, they'd give you malanga fritters to eat instead, veggies that don't count with how delicious they are.
“I started to row back towards the shore…”
A momentary pause for effect, letting the suspense build. The image of that night is still clear in your mind, so you can let yourself take in the others’ expressions. Mira's face looks exactly like how you imagined your parents' to be as the realization that you were gone dawned on them.
“And then, I…”
…Wait. Still clear in your mind? What—you try to think of what to say next, the best way to answer her question. Enough time had passed to stir up the reactions you wanted out of your parents, so you set sail again, you had started rowing, you... You can't remember. Not even the starshine of that night cuts through the lightlessness of your mind. All you're drawing are blanks. You weren't that far out; surely there wasn't any time for anything to happen? But. There's nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
“I…”
You can't think of what your house looked like, come to think of it. Can't think of your parents' faces. Can't think of anything but the way the sand you once walked through slips through your fingers again. You. Can’t. Remember.
Was it worth it, Siffrin? Dealing with potatoes for a single night? Relieved laughter you never got? Were those really enough reasons to throw your life away? Were they more important than remembering? Did you prefer the years of being alone than the country your mind refuses to give name or shape to?! Odile is right, you were a terrible child. It was your fault. You left! You never meant to leave, but you left, and now—
A wave of vertigo hits you, almost bringing you to your knees. You barely avoid stumbling.
“...Sif?”
Woah! What? “Um, yes?”
“Um… You were telling us how you ran away from home?”
You were? “I… was?”
Odile chimes in to second Isabeau, who then takes Bonnie’s side about your sieve-like memory (hey!). Still, it seems like whatever the conversation was, it must not have been too important for them to avoid prompting you for more. You give the letter in front of you one last glance before turning your attention to the drawer next to it.
Running away from home… What a weird thing to do!