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Thump. Thump. Thump.
One heart beating, a dense echo in the watery darkness.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Two lungs, gasping and desperate for their final breath of air before succumbing to the voices in my head that begged for me to surrender my life.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three things stolen from me that day: childhood memories, an eye, and my own name.
When I was young, I wondered if someone ever educated me on how, in times of perceived danger, animals and humans alike have various ways of responding to fear. One of the first memories I formed after they had taken the rest from me was responding to my surroundings in fear.
Flashes flooded my mind like lightning striking a raging sea, illuminating a dark canvas. It was as if my soul had separated from its body, shrouded from the world below. I pictured people discovering my remains, the curious case of a skeletal boy with a silverwood tree sprouting to life from his eye. They were frightened, at the sight of the worm-ridden lid to the casket that sealed away my fate, to see the scratch marks of little, chipped fingernails scratching away at the inside.
What is the worth of a child? How meaningful is a young life?
How human are we from birth, when we rely on others to tell us how we see the world? Even all those years ago, my emotions were raw, and my fingertips were numb after soaking in freezing rain water for far too long. I was capable of knowing that it may have very well been my last night on this Earth, if my master had not saved me before it was too late. I never knew–no, now, I no longer know what it means to be a child at heart, because all I have left is an empty void that whispers ‘something is missing.’
I wonder if anyone mourned me. Maybe, someone out there did love me, or maybe, they still do. As I am now, I never got the chance to love them back. After all, I will never have the memories to prove it.
Some days, I can’t help but sit and wonder, if I am guilty of reliving my childhood through my students. Not in the way a parent lives their dreams through their child, the ones that got left behind with age. I suppose it’s more like, I spectate, from a distance. I imagine my entire childhood around what they have, because I was left with none of it. Tetia’s ever-cheerful demeanor, Richeh’s dedication to remaining pure and true, Agott’s studious fervor to prove herself, and now…Coco. She views the world through an idealistic lens, where there is an optimistic solution to every issue. Oh, how I envy that thinking.
When I see them learn, play, and dream, I cannot help but wonder if I once did the same. Children have a curious way of reminding adults what we have forgotten.
Some of us have simply forgotten more than others.
Whenever my master noticed me being harsh on myself, he told me to imagine a picture of my infant self, for who could speak so harshly to an innocent child? I understood what he meant, because I cannot bear the thought of crushing the dreams of someone so young. I have even passed on the same advice to Agott, as I see that bit of myself in her. Yet even now, especially now, I pass on lessons I never fully learned myself.
A small voice in the back of my head has always believed that there was never a younger version of me, before the one that was born from the casket. Therefore, I have never had an issue talking down to myself, because I never remember deserving to feel innocent. The day I feel understood, seen, is the day that I–I do not want to be a burden to others.
Olruggio was a gifted lad, and that quality is even more prominent now. He swore to be with me through every struggle, every pain, but that first time he came to understand my secret nearly brought me to an early end. Each time he remembers, I will do my part.
You erased his memories. You have become just as terrible as those who stole from you.
At least, someone knows what that is like, to lose something once dear to them, if but for a moment.
Secrets are like wishes, if you think about it. If you tell another person, you lose sole control over it. That is why, I will be the guardian of my own secrets, and they will never penetrate the world I have sought to so carefully create. No matter who else shares my visage, this mask is my own, and I have personally crafted it to have no cracks. My smile has been forever burned onto my lips, singeing them every time I wear it.
Do not fret, Olly. You understand me, just not in a way that you can ever–no, it is alright, it is for the best.
This will be my self-inflicted prison for as long as I live. I have grown used to the sensation of my heart being chilled, always on edge, pumping blood faster than it should. I pray no one can hear its low, symphonic beats through the walls of my room on this night.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Someday, I hope my students can take all I have taught them and become young women who will inspire and change this world for the better. I became someone who isolated myself, who knew I could never be truly seen, and who could never deeply grasp the concept of happiness. If I were to depart from this world too soon, the memory of my smile would haunt those who cared about me, because they would all see the creature I have become behind the mask. Though, I suppose I am not fully to blame. It was the Brimmed Caps who stole so much from me.
They hurt that child.
I hurt that child.
They hurt that child.
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“Humans can be quite terrifying. And one of the qualities that makes us so terrifying is how easily we fail to recognize that.”
“But Master…magic exists to bring people happiness, right? Its purpose is to help. It’s a miracle that makes this world vibrant!”
“If that is what you witches of the future truly believe to be so, well then…
…
it must be, now mustn’t it?”