Chapter Text
20/04/1939
Far away, somewhere in the endless steppes, across water sources and in the skirts of looming mountains, it is said that there are living beings — us. People. People of the past. A simple and friendly humanity in one circle, alliance with alliance, person with person. Not many crimes happen here, as you often hear on the news. But how could it be otherwise? There are people like that who commit murder against others. By any means necessary: with their hands, weapons, words, or even curses. But we thought this humanity would love us. No, we were wrong to think. We were wrong to believe. Who on this earth could destroy a creation of nature? The same creatures as you, with twelve healthy body parts, heart and souls. They hear, feel, see, and speak. What were they missing? Why would they hate another living person like you? Try asking them that — they'll remain silent.
Such a wondrous world, filled with inspiring natural sights, wondrous creatures, fascinating events, and secrets buried in the heart of Gaialune. All that was missing was justice between the Terrenus and the Divinus. With such a view, we are born again.
...
Spring weather, green grass grows from the ground again and the warmth of the sunlight becomes warmer than in previous days. It starts when a new girl is born in these parts. Raven-haired woman taking her long-awaited rest after her third born. Her contractions lasted for a full ten hours, even longer than it seemed. From another adjoining room, the midwife returns to the newborn's mother, holding her baby in her arms, wrapped in a white baby blanket. The midwife gives a mild smile to the mother, neatly placing the small bundle into her arms. Cyarah looks down at the small round face of the baby, which exchanged her weary expression into amazed one. By the face features of the newborn, she wonders if it's a son. Her hazel orbs glances up at the midwife, as she asks her in a low hoarse tone. Cyarah: "This is a boy, right?" That midwife shakes her head lightly with the same expression, sighing under her nose. Midwife: "No, ma'am. But you have a beautiful daughter. Congratulations." There was a brief silence in the room as Cyarah processes the news in her mind. And then finally that smile returns, realizing the fact that she gave birth to a third daughter. While women are cleaning the room after a long labor, Cyarah with curiosity drags her thumb over the warm and soft chubby skin of her child, soon pushing down the small baby hat. She might have expected something that would make her happier than ever. But it didn't. That same smile slowly disappeared from her face when her eyes noticed the gray, delicate hairs on the child's head. The mother's heart almost stopped when anxiety creeps into her stomach. Why is her hair grey? Why is her skin so fair? Was it really me who gave birth to her? Countless questions began to storm in her head as frown forms on her features.
Cyarah glanced at the nurse next to her, asking the question with a surprised and suspicious tone. Cyarah: "Excuse me. Why is my daughter's hair grey? And... so pale?" The nurse turns to face Cyarah with wide eyes and puzzled look. She didn't knew how to respond to this as she went speechless for a moment, trying to reassure the woman with no panic. Nurse: "Just don't worry ma'am. She's perfectly healthy. This could be... rare. You know? Maybe your ancestors had such genes, who knows?" Probably, this woman is insane. Her ancestors couldn't be some wizards with gray hair and blue eyes. Queer suspicion spreads into Cyarah's chest as these thoughts storms in her mind.
Midwife: "No need to doubt about that, my dear. She is yours. You are her mother. Look at her." Midwife's serene and raspy voice broke Cyarah from her thoughts, causing her to look up at the elder woman with still-doubting expression, before landing them to her daughter. One part of her wants to believe that this child is truly hers, but another part can't. After these mistrusts, she finally gives in and mentally accepts it. Cyarah nods with small gesture, murmuring. Cyarah: "Alright."
The midwife gives a warm smile to her and the women around her do their business and takes well care after the mother and newborn.
When I opened my eyes, I saw my mother's face. My mother seemed... Yes, it's true that I look different from them, not like them. As if I were a divine child who should have been born somewhere else, maybe... in another world. In a different family. Not every parent can accept a child who is completely different from you until you know the reason behind it. I believe that my family will love me and accept me as their own and real.
A few hours later, when Cyarah now feels comfortable and was able to get up, the door of the delivery room opens with a gentle sway. The visitor was my father, Donovan. A dark-haired, not particularly tall man with glasses, his eyes fell on Cyarah, who was sitting on the hospital bed, eating lunch. Once she heard the door opened and closed with a silent creak, her gaze moves aside, only to meet her husband's amazed gaze. She places the spoon in the plate and sets them aside on the nearby table, wiping the small porridge crumbs from the corners of her mouth. Donovan on the other hand feels like he is on the cloud nine. A small bouquet of gypsophila and roses on his hand clutched, of course, how could you not give it to the woman who will bear you your heirs? He steps closer to Cyarah, settling down on the edge of the bed and taking her hand in his as he leans down to give a kiss on her forehead.
Donovan: "Hey darling. Sorry I got a little late, I should've came on time but I could not find moment to free myself from the work—" he began to excuse himself in a low voice, full of sorry and desperation but Cyarah smiles to him, her own hand squeezing his gently.
Cyarah: "Don't be sorry, dear. I'm fine. We are fine." She reassures him as Donovan takes a deep breath of relief and hands the bouquet to her he bought on his way in the flower shop. She takes it from his hands, thanking him and sharing their little moment of love until Donovan decides to see his new child. The crib is next to the bed. He got up and approaches with slow steps until he sees the face of the baby. She is wide awake in this late hour, her piercing blue eyes glances up to the new person she sees with those eyes. Donovan's excited smile freezes for a brief second before it agonizingly falters.
Cyarah from the background looks up to her husband, noting that look on his mature face. A sense of fussiness spreads in her body again, expecting nothing but endless questions from him now. He expected everything but this...
Donovan: "Is she alright? Why is she..." He questions in a stiff and low tone. Cyarah frowns in frustration and guilt, trying to find words to explain this.
Cyarah: "Donovan, listen. This is our daughter. Our third child. But no one knows how she was born this way. Please, do not misunderstand me." She explains with slight anxiety and irritation, her fingers clenching the bouquet. He continues to stare at the newborn in the crib, her blue eyes are fixated back into his, like she's trying to say something with eyes. As expected, he began to complain.
Donovan: "What will we tell others? Relatives? Neighbors? That we've given birth to some..." He trails off as he takes another look on the baby's face, her eyes and gray hair. He shakes his head with low groan, glancing at his wife.
Donovan: "She doesn't looks like us. Not even inch! Look at her, look at us and to our daughters. People will now start saying that the witch has been reborn and has come to curse us all. And we are responsible for her. Now it's not her, but we will be the talk of the town!"
Cyarah: "And what do you expect from me, darling? Give her away? Throw her away?" She pressures back. Half of her wants to keep the child because she's her mother and must accept her. But the other, stubborn side doesn't want to humiliate herself in public. It is certainly not right to abandon a newborn and even more so it is illegal. But there are cruel people. The man freezes as her words truly hit something inside him. He's not that cruel. He can't be. But still, it forces him to change.
With a deep breath he runs his hand through his dark locks.
Donovan: "I'm tired of everything. The last thing I needed was to deal with this... creature." He sounds so stressed that Cyarah feels deep empathy for him. Completely understanding that this situation is overwhelming both them. With a small sigh, Cyarah shifts on the bed.
Cyarah: "We can just hide her from the public. It's not a big deal, right? At all..." She looks down at the child, who didn't tore her innocent gaze from Donovan.
Cyarah: "...We are her parents and we are responsible for this girl." She finishes. He knows either. It's not a good choice just to abandon the newborn. This is their destiny after all. You need to accept what life gives you.
A part of Donovan understands his spouse's words. His shoulders are tensed, as if more load joins after another to carry this all. His gaze lands on the child
Donovan: "Okay then. I'll... try to get used to it and protect us." Promised he. The way their so-called daughter looks at them with those deep blue eyes, that intelligent gaze never leaving hers—it causes him unnecessary tension. As if she wants something from them. Something different. He wishes he could get rid of this child, from her gaze, but she won't allow it.
What will happen next? Thought the couple. There is one answer to this question — wait. Wait till tomorrow.
The very morning has come when Cyarah is already being discharged from the maternity hospital. Though, they live far away from their relatives and no one has awaited for Cyarah's arrival, expect their friendly neighbours. A belmont tan colored Studebaker Champion pulls up in front of a plain cottage house in a small village, parking there and the engine shuts down. Door of a house cottage bursts open with surprising force, sending the door rattling from the impact against a wood.
???: "MOMMY IS HERE!" A little, seven-years-old girl shrieks from excitement and joy from the doorway as she sprints towards to the car. Behind her, another but much younger, four-years-old kid emerges out as well with tiny happy sounds. Behind them, a female voice rang out inside the house.
???: "Tamasa?! Mela?! Girls! Ugh— those little rascals..." An older woman breathes out heavily from dramatic exhaustion, padding out of the door and her eyes lands on the car and individuals coming out. A bright smile spread across her wrinkled face as she recognises them. Donovan slips out from the driver's seat as he opens the backseat door, taking and cradling the child wrapped in a baby blanket. Cyarah follows afterwards, but the kids are already clinging to her legs, like a little chicks. A warmth spreads in her chest as she bends down and hugs her daughters.
Cyarah: "Oh, how I missed my two sweethearts. How are you, sweeties?" She asks in an affectionate tone.
Tamasa: "Mommy, we're good! We missed you too! Yay!" She exclaims as she particularly bounces on her small feet. Cyarah leans down to give one kiss to Tamasa, and one to Mela's head, patting their heads in loving way. And here the brunette woman Olivia approaches Cyarah, opening her arms wide and envelopes her in a warm hug and giving a kiss on each another's cheeks.
Olivia: "Happy third happiness, my dear! I heard it's another daughter! How have you been?" She congrats her, holding her arms and taking in the change of her physical appearance. Cyarah in response smiles.
Cyarah: "Thank you Mrs. Olivia. Yeah, everything is alright. Both me and the child are totally fine." She reassures the older woman. Little did she know— other joyful voices of her neighbours approaches from the pathway in the dirt street. Olivia was the first one to see them, and her smile stretches wider as she steps aside.
Olivia: "Oh! Here they are! Harold, Audrey, Miss Blythe— even David and Matilda are coming!" She points at their neighbours.
Olivia: "While you were at the maternity ward, I watched over your daughters and tidied up your place to make things easier for you and the little one. Oh! And I even set the table for the guests, so... relax! Auntie Olive always has your back, babe!" She looks at Cyarah with smug yet caring smile as she tilts her head. Cyarah on the other hand, glances at her with eyes wide and in surprise. How she could prepare everything on her own? All alone?
Cyarah: "Wait— no— why you did that all alone? You should've had waited for me!" She is taken aback and can feel embarrassment burn inside her. Olivia rolls her eyes playfully, swaying her hand.
Olivia: "It's alright darling, no need to freak out. I'm always with you no matter what." She pats her hand on Cyarah's shoulder— as a sign of support. But instead of feeling confident, deep down in her soul, there was a deep anxiety. Her chest was constantly tightening, wondering what she would say if the neighbors saw the child. What will the relatives say? What will everyone think from now on? Will they blame me? Will they punish me? Bad thoughts and questions swirled through her head for one brief moment, until she was awakened by the neighbors' embrace and their voices calling her name in joyous tones. Cyarah blinks as she felt the embraces of the people, hesitantly, but then quickly pushes away the negativity, flashing a smile in their direction.
Strong arms pulled me into a room, placing me in a soft, wooden, rather warm cradle. My father adjusted the blanket, and my mother followed him. She began removing the baby blanket from me, pulling my tiny arms and legs into the air while I stretched out in bliss. They muttered something, but of course I couldn't understand what. A frown crossed their faces, a deep sigh from mom—and dad left again to sit with the guests. And then other women, unknown to me, entered the room and immediately began cooing once they saw me.
Audrey: "What a little angel you are! May God protect you." A noirette woman said beside me, stroking the child's head and giving a light kiss on the tiny nose. Another woman spoke from the other side:
Matilda: "My God, look at her eyes! Why are they blue, I wonder?" Cyarah freezes once she heard that question she was afraid of to hear from them. Her hands clenches and unclenched nervously on the fabric of her folded clothes, before continuing to gather them in the shelf.
Cyarah: "Yeah... We don't know how it happened. Though it's a rare thing from the nature they say. I believe so." She brushes it away with a small smile. Not wishing to lift up this theme again. Two women exchange surprised but curious looks to each other. Thankfully they believe to Cyarah, letting out a sound of amazement.
Matilda: "Even if she doesn't look like you, she's still so cute." The lady Audrey nods in agreement, completely oblivious to the tension Cyarah carries in her. A big wave of relief washes her as if she's able to breathe again.
A few hours later, Cyarah and Donovan's long-awaited relatives arrived. There were quite a lot of them. The house was now filled with guests, and they sat down at the table for a little tea. The atmosphere is filled with chatter, the aroma of dinner, and the laughter of adults and children. While all the adults were in the dining room, Donovan's little sister was looking after the newborn. She was a fairly young student and unmarried. And these little relatives' children were constantly coming to visit. This time, Tamasa and the other little boys and girls were on the trail, whispering loudly. Tamasa put her finger to her lips and looked at the others as a sign to stay silent.
Tamasa: "Shhh, my baby sister is sleeping!" The three other children quieted down with curiosity as they approached the student girl and the cradle. One of the boys looked at his aunt and whispered, trying not to sound too loud, so as not to wake the baby.
???: "Aunt Marie? Is the baby sleeping?" Another girl chimes in as she climbs onto the queen-sized bed beside the student girl.
???: "What's her name? Can we see her, please?!" She pats her arm. The student girl looks down at the group of the children, feeling a little bothered by their unending questions. With a quiet sigh, she whispers back.
Marie: "Curiosity is killing you, right? Okay, just this once and don't touch her. Wake her up and she'll cry." The kids nod excitedly as they peek from the crib, taking in the sleeping face of the baby. The kids awes and small gasps escapes from them as they comment on her.
???: "So she still has no name, auntie?" The girl asks again, tilting her head with wonder. Marie shakes her head, pulling her bottom lip as if she doesn't knows yet.
Marie: "No, Lucy. She still has no name. Maybe they're still choosing a name for her." In fact, no one even mentioned any idea of names for her. Little Lucy lifts up her eyebrows from surprise.
Lucy: "Maybe we can help name her? She'll be—"
???: "Baby!" The boy with a maroon shirt cuts her off, with a loud giggle. Others began to join a hushed laugh, accidentally letting out a loud squeaks. Marie rolls her eyes with a grin and immediately hushes, scolding but not in serious way.
Marie: "Alright, shh! Enough kids, get out!" The little rascals runs out of the bedroom, leaving Marie alone with the child. The newborn stiffens slightly with a tiny sound, but then relaxes as her sleep continues.
Marie had always loved children, especially babies like these. But she never thought she'd feel anything different with this one. Something's wrong with the baby... she thought. I hope I don't wake her up— she thought, before reaching out to the child's face and gently touching her pale face, feeling the warmth of her fair skin. Maybe she should remove the hat, because she feels too warm for her normality. She untied the string from the baby's chin and freed her head from the small hat...
Her breath hitches in her throat.
Marie expected everything, but not to see the child's fine, silvery hair. As a future biologist, she'd never heard of a human being having such gray hair. Yes, she'd read about it, but she only knew about albinism, which is related to the genetics of all living things, not this. She didn't really believe in magic or anything paranormal, much less in the witches people told her about. Is my brother hiding this?
Marie glanced once towards the door, where everyone was having dinner and chatting, and quickly put the hat on the child’s head and tied the lace back. Was I not allowed to see this, or what? How can I look at their faces now? Many questions were asking themselves in her head, and you can see how shocked she is through her appearance.
No, I don't believe in such fairy tales. They're just fiction, not reality. But... looking at this, my world began to change. Or maybe they do exist after all?...
Marie: "No." She shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair and gets up from the bed, pacing in the bedroom as if trying to clear her mind.
And so the evening continued in this house, carrying with it mysterious events. When the Sun set and darkness covered the sky with twinkling stars, the guests began to leave the house. The guests thanked the family for the tea and wished them only happiness and health as they said goodbye to each other.
In one of the black cars, Marie sat next to her sister in the backseat. Her eyes were fixed on the window, her head resting against it. Her older sister, Isolde, who always noticed this look on her face, tapped Marie's hand and asked in a quiet voice.
Isolde: "Is everything okay?" She always knew that something is off with her young sister. Marie blinked a few times and looked at Isolde. She had to relax, even if she was tense and something had been bothering her since tea party. She nods:
Marie: "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just... Exhausted." That's all what she said before looking away. But Isolde knew that look and concern itched in her chest.
Isolde: "Marie... You know, you can't hide yourself from me. At least tell me if you can’t tell anyone else." Her voice sounded comforting that melted Marie's tension. Marie knows that it's a risky word to open the secret Donovan and Cyarah were hiding, and leans in closer to her ear, audible only to her.
Marie: "When I was babysitting the baby, I took off her hat and noticed that she had gray hair. Did you notice that she doesn't look a bit like her parents? Maybe aunt Cyarah..." She trails off at the sudden thought she would never ever think about. On the other hand, Isolde looks more surprised than her.
Isolde: "What?..." But indeed, she also noted the difference between parent and the child but she didn't paid too much attention back there.
Isolde: "But, yes. I did. And... No, Cyarah would never do such things, I believe." A frown forms on her matured face, looking unraveled as Marie. She glances at her sister again, her heart aching at the thought that it may be a dark sign for their family. Who knows? Or they just misunderstood the child? Isolde always believed in the phenomenon more than anyone else, and it made her think about some warnings. With a deep breath, she shifts against a seat, holding her kid securely on her lap, murmuring to Marie with reassurance.
Isolde: "We'll talk about it later, alright? Don't worry too much about it." Marie nods slowly at her consolation before looking away to watch the passing buildings and road from the window.
And so several months passed, the baby growing imperceptibly with her family. How quickly children grow... while you can close and open your eyes, the child has already begun to crawl. In early March, Cyarah decided to take her children for a walk in the fresh spring air. While Tamasa and Mela played with the other children in the playground, Cyarah sat on a bench with a stroller and her baby inside. As she sat there, a thoughtful expression on her face, someone cleared their throat to get her attention.
"Excuse me. How many months are you?" A woman at the same age as her asked in a gentle tone, while holding her own toddler on her lap. Cyarah breaks from her thoughts and glances to the lady. "We're 11 months right now. In April we will be 1 year old." Then adds a small smile. The woman smiles at the baby in the stroller, finding her adorable. "May I ask, what's her name?" Curiosity killed the cat...
For a moment, Cyarah looks like she is about to snap in any second from the repeating questions, but holds herself down. You can just make excuses. "...Sorry, I can't say it. That's rather a... secret." The woman gets confused by the mystery she carries, but thanks she doesn't presses on. "Oh, a secret? I wonder why... Ah, that's very fine if you don't want to." She looks away as she adjusts her child on her lap, giving Cyarah one last side-eye. So, she has to be more careful around others. All day long. Lately, Cyarah has been getting angry and upset more often over little things, people's doubts, and rumors that their family is becoming more suspicious. Further away from this, another woman drew the attention of that woman and they began to whisper. Cyarah's eyes remains forward but once she heard quiet gasps from them, she is done. The frustration is unbearable. With a quiet sigh, she gets up and drags the stroller forward on the pathway.
"Tamasa! Mela! Let's go." She calls out her daughters from the playground, who immediately pouts but obeys without resistance.
There is no another day without 'those' people.
Later, once she is at home, Cyarah began to prepare dinner and wait for Donovan's arrival. Her hands swiftly move the knife as she chops the tomato, a hollow expression on her face. You can say she is not focused on the meal, but every word they say, those doubting and skeptical glares making something harden in her expression.
Why has my reputation declined? Why do people look at me differently than before? Why is everyone distancing themselves?
Her grip on the tomato tightens.
If everyone starts hating me... what will I have left? What if Donovan leaves me?
Her heart pounds in chest and frowns as something boils in her.
This has never happened before. It's because of... because of...
"HER!" Cyarah hisses aloud as she too roughly sliced the tomato, that it's blade accidentally slit her finger. A strangled gasp follows, dropping the items on the cutting board, holding up her bleeding finger. Her eyes widens from her own outburst, watching the blood trickle on her hand. "Dang it..!" What's happening to me?...
With quick turn, she rushes into the bathroom, running the cool water and stop the bleeding.
A moment later, the front door opened with a key and Donovan walked into the house. His daughters cried out from the living room, "Daddy!" and ran out at him with childish joy. Donovan shoots a wide smile at them, crouching down and opening his arms for them.
"Daddy's here as he promised. See?" He chuckles. "But we did missed you!" Tamasa bats her eyes at him with innocent, pouty look. "Did you brought lollipops for us, daddy?" Mela chimes in with big eyes. Donovan smiles as he pulls out two lollipops in wraps from his suitcase, patting their heads. "Here you go, as promised, my princesses."
"YAY! THANK YOU DADDY!" Both girls shrieks in joy as they bolt away back into living room. He finds their attitudes amusing, shaking his head as he rises up on his feet. However, his wife usually leaves the room to greet him, too. And this made him uneasy. Taking off his jacket, he stepped forward into the kitchen door. There she was— placing the plates on the table as usual, the dinner is ready now. Hearing the sound of footsteps, Cyarah turned around to face him standing in the doorway. "Hey darling." She spoke.
"Hey, honey. How are you doing?" Donovan responded back as he steps in, closing the distance and giving a kiss on her temple. Cyarah nods, a small reassuring smile tugs on her lips. "We're doing fine. What about you? Will the boss raise your salary?"
"He says not right now. Some problems have come up, but he promised to raise it." He responded as he went into their bedroom, to change his clothes. As he appeared in that room, their youngest was sitting on the carpet with some toys scattered. She turns her head towards Donovan, those big curious eyes fixated on him. And he, wears nothing but mild surprise on his expression. As dresses in simple, home clothes, Donovan slowly approaches her and picks up in his arms. The daughter doesn't protests as she let's herself being carried, sucking on her tiny fingers.
"Dinner is ready, dear." Cyarah called out, her voice is enough audible to reach him. When Donovan returns back to the kitchen with their youngest in his hands, she doesn't let's him go any further: "Stop." The single yet warning tone made Donovan freeze on his way, his eyes widen in confusion. Cyarah doesn't even dares to look at him, completely not desiring to see her daughter right in this moment. "Leave her alone in the bedroom." This is all what she said. And the way she spoke... Her voice was tight. But Donovan knew better than to argue right now. Because that body language of hers, tells him everything what she feels. Without words, he turns around and went to leave their youngest to Tamasa and Mela in the living room.
Cyarah sighs heavily as she sat down on the chair, Donovan sat across her. A small frown forms, as he notes the dullness in her eyes. "Something bothers you a lot lately, I noticed that." He states silently as he picks the spoon and drinks the soup. Cyarah's eyes lowers down on her plate, running her fingers through her scalp, a clear sign of her stress. "I'm just exhausted, nothing more..." She murmurs. With one glance towards him, she sees how focused he looks, as if he is trying to read her like a open book. She grunts silently in defeat:
"I'm exhausted of everything, Donovan. Since she was born, everything changed. Not only with me, but with our family, our status in society." There... Shuddering breath escapes from her lips, her hands curling on the table. "People already know what's wrong with us. With that child of ours. I hear them everywhere, spreading gossip to each other, and how God has cursed us for our sins. I don't like it all... What have I done? Is it my fault that she was born differently?"
Donovan sees the tone of her voice change instantly, and her patched finger doesn't goes unnoticed. "I know. Neither this is easy for me... But I am trying with all my might to protect us." Perhaps, the overstress or the pregnancy changed her mental health. That's why most women's emotions exchange in an instant.
Heavy silence stretches between them expect the soft hum of the light and children's voices from the another room. And she broke it with more quieter voice:
"We should've just abandoned her..."