Time. Such a curious thing. The order of one thing happening after another. Why was it suddenly so confused for her? Sickness seemed to play such curious games with her. She liked games. I wonder how I can win this one? The man had said that she would get better. He had given her smiles and comfort. His tenderness a stark contrast to the horrors she had been through. But who was he? She could barely remember. He became so confused with the other people that ran around her tormented head. Images flickered like a candle by an open window, dancing in the draught. One by one the flames merged and soon a single scene danced before her fevered eyes.
That’s who he is! There he was, standing by a cart in the wilds somewhere, his blonde hair ruffling in the wind, all smiles on the outside, yet somehow so distant on the inside. He was there yet not there at the same time. So distant. Yet suddenly he looked at her and distracted himself by her childish blushes and sweet demeanour. Perhaps he was there after all. Yet despite how much he spoke he never seemed to say anything. She liked it. Means I do not have to speak either. Speak of what I was.
And suddenly he faded and only the cart remained. Sat in the cart was an older couple, grey hair gleaming in the sunlight. The cart trundled along a dusty road and the two sat idly in it, the man with his arm around the woman, his free hand holding the reins. Their undying love obvious to all the world. The faint sounds of their carefree chatter mingled with the sounds of the cart and the occasional whinnying of the horses as they clopped along the road. Abruptly, the cart came to a halt. One of the horses stumbled, its leg giving way dramatically. Looking down, the couple noticed what the horse had appeared to have tripped over. A girl. Teenager. Ginger. Where had she come from? They could have sworn she was not there before. Her eyes were shut and a bright red patch stained her stomach, roughly the size of a hoof print perhaps? Alarmed, the couple hurried down to see if the girl was alright. Next thing they knew a young man had launched himself into the cart and driven off. The girl vanishing while they were distracted. How did I not know? The cart trundled off into the distance and the couple faded to black.
Then darkness. The dark streets of Dale in the dead of night. Drunken men and women stumbled around until even they abandoned the streets, leaving only the hushed stillness of the icy night. Huddled by a wall was a girl, probably roughly twelve. The twinkling light of lanterns catching her flame red hair. She shivered in the cold, wearing little more than rags. The moment had come. There he was, standing over her with concern in those dark brown eyes of his. He sat down beside her, wrapping her in his cloak and putting an arm around her shivering shoulders. Softly, he spoke words of gentle comfort to her, whispering to her. How it would all be alright. How she had nothing to fear. How she would be safe with him. She lapped up every word. Foolish. Taking her by the hand, he led her to his house. He fed her warm food. He let her sleep in a comfortable bed. He treated her like a princess. She felt…content.
The warm feeling of contentment soon changed along with the scene. Next she was cowering in a corner of a bare, darkened room. Just a child now, the ginger mite hid her face beneath an arm, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out as blow after blow rained down on her like the never ending thunder of an eternal storm. NO! Not this…Soon it was unbearable and the screams started to rip from her throat. Screams of agony. Screams of terror. Screams of betrayal. These met by eyes that mirrored her own to the letter. Father. His laughter mingled with her screams. Then darkness came with a rush of oblivion and blessed relief from her tormenter.
The darkness swirled around her, mixing with a strangely warm light. The light formed a shape. The image of a tall ginger woman in a pale green dress with a kind heart and troubled eyes. On her lap was a small child, not much older than a toddler. Mother. She leant in and whispered to the child. Her sweet words echoing down the years. I love you little Kríea and never forget it. I never will.
Warmth flooded through her and a feeling of safety that she had not felt for a long time. Yet how quickly that feeling came and went. Suddenly a new image flashed up. So similar to the last yet so different at the same time. A younger ginger woman held a tiny baby boy in her arms, her face marred with bruises. She leant in and with the same look of care and devotion she whispered to her son: I love you little Sigstæinn and never forget it.
