Tasting Ambrosia

A cool autumn breeze swept over the yellowing field as the last rays of evening sunlight clung to the treetops of the Darkwood, casting the skyline in vibrant shades of violet and gold.

It was the moment I’d been waiting for.

Charcoal pencil poised at the ready, I roughly sketched the breathtaking display on watercolor parchment, shading subtle beams of light and pillowy clouds over what I’d previously drawn of the forest.

I was perfectly positioned from my favorite perch behind a hay-bale, in full view of the harvested field butting up to the shadowy treeline marking the boundary of Duskfen Sanctuary.

It was the closest I’d ever allowed myself to get to the border, the shadows of the woods acting as a line no one in our little village dared to cross. Not if you valued your life.

Though it didn’t stop me from wondering, fantasizing about the world beyond the Darkwood.

I’d been staring at that horizon for as long as I could remember, imagining what could lie just beyond the forest. Dreaming of what life could be if I were brave enough to venture into the darkness.

Inching closer and closer every year.

And I had never been as near to those shadows as I was then, seated on the dying grass with my skirts bunched around my legs with my sketchbook in my lap, the hay bale at my back.

Twenty-five paces. Maybe thirty.

That’s all it would take for the shadows of the Darkwood to swallow me whole, entering forbidden lands, and forfeiting the Sanctuary’s protection.

I’d be fair game for the creatures hidden within.

So, why wasn’t I frightened?

Fear of the forest had been instilled in every one of us since early in our youth, hammered into us like a blade being forged.

‘Monsters roam the Darkwood. Enter at your own peril. For if you relinquish sanctuary, you submit to death.’

That’s what the village elders always dictated to us. What my father had always said.

As an elder himself, it felt like a mantra within our home.

There was safety within our Sanctuary, for the monsters could not enter.

As long as we remained within, no harm would befall us.

Do not venture too close.

Stay within the sun’s blessed light.

But Duskfen Sanctuary was a small community, the village nestled in the center of a giant clearing surrounded by dense forest with shadows as black as the night sky.

And to distance the townsfolk from the danger of the Darkwood, the early settlers chose to ring the sanctuary with fields for agriculture.

No one but the farmers and field workers ventured this close to the treeline, too afraid of a creature hiding in the darkness spotting them.

It was just the way we lived, cut off from the rest of the world, aside from the occasional traveling merchant, who would bring goods and stories.

But there were always those whose imaginations were set ablaze, curious about those tales.

They were the ones who felt stifled by the cage we lived in, couldn’t resist the allure of the forest, the promise of change and adventure.

So, they’d enter the Darkwood, never to be seen again.

My mother was one of them.

According to my father’s account, it’d been two years after my birth, and she’d been wracked with melancholy ever since, a devastating sadness she had battled daily.

But one evening after Father had returned home from his work from the village council, he’d found me wailing in the arms of my frantic nursemaid, my mother nowhere to be found.

She’d told him I’d screamed all day, and the Lady of the house was close to hysterics, clutching me tightly to her breast with a crazed look in her icy blue eyes as she pleaded through tears for me to calm myself, that it was alright.

She’d been on the brink, near breaking, when the nursemaid took me from her, suggesting gently that it might be beneficial for her to take a short walk and breathe in some fresh air.

The last thing anyone saw of her was her back as she’d stood in the field near the boundary, staring into the Darkwood.

My father never put it into words, but I could see it in the way he’d avoided my gaze, could hear it in the coldness of his voice.

He blamed me.

I drove her to madness, to desperation. And the only way out that she could see was death at the hands of monsters.

Shaking my head, my vision blurred, and it was only then that I realized tears had welled in my eyes.

My mother’s blue eyes.

Dragging the back of my hand over my cheek, wiping the salty liquid from my lashes, I looked down.

They’d dripped onto the parchment, making the charcoal bleed in the densest part of the forest.

It’d created an opening into the darkness. A path.

Something settled in my gut, and as I raised my gaze, peering into the dense forest, it darkened, mimicking the sketch in my lap.

Like it was taunting me.

That pressure grew into a familiar uneasiness, and curiosity warred deep in my mind.

It was unmistakable, like something was watching. I could feel its stare caressing me, beckoning me toward the unknown.

Intense eyes, the color of rubies flashed across my mind, their gaze heated and hungry.

Blinking, I broke its hold, and breath I hadn’t realized I’d held returned to my lungs.

Suppressing it was becoming impossible.

I tried to hide the fascination, the obsession. Tamp it down until I could pretend it wasn’t there, but that only worked for so long.

I’d known since childhood that I was at risk of being one of the mesmerized. Could feel the draw.

It frightened me sometimes. That I was more intrigued by the Darkwood than I was afraid, a sign that I was altogether...other.

I didn’t understand what made me like this, but I’d been fighting it since I’d realized how different I was.

And the need to walk into the shadows intensified the day I experienced my first blood.

That night, a hazy specter visited my dreams, and I woke the next morning with only a vague memory of him.

Intense ruby-red eyes and black-tipped claws caressing my skin. Like he'd dipped his hands in shadow before touching me.

And it continued nightly, it seemed. This imposing creature overwhelming me, only to wake without a clear memory of what happened.

But it never frightened me. I'd only ever felt...something warm.

Like belonging.

I knew it wasn't right, that whatever was happening to me was something I needed to ignore.

It was shameful.

So, I’d told myself to push it down, pretend it wasn’t there, like an ever-present pit in my stomach.

Pretend everything was just as it should be.

That I wasn't haunted by the Darkwood or a pair of mesmerizing ruby eyes.

I would be a good daughter.

Stay agreeable, silent, obedient.

Never let my fascination show.

But I couldn’t maintain that forever.

So, I allowed myself only one respite. One indulgence, and only if no one was the wiser.

A few times a week, I’d come to this spot, hidden from view of the village by a hay bale, and I’d sit where the Darkwood could see me, where I could feel it.

I wasn’t sure why, but I needed it.

Eventually, I’d realized I was no longer at risk.

I was one of the mesmerized.

During these times, I sketched, needing to bring a piece of the forest back with me into mundane life.

It didn’t matter if I drew the same thing again and again with only minor differences. I needed it, appreciative of even the smallest, inconsequential moonbeam over the treetops or a cloudy day darkening the void.

It didn’t matter if nothing of importance occurred. I wanted something of the forest when I was away from it, forced to perform the role of dutiful daughter.

It was a guilty pleasure. A secret obsession that I couldn’t shake.

So I’d make excuses for my departures and absences upon my return, hiding the evidence of my lie.

But that was alright. These sketches were only for me.

And of course it occurred to me to wonder if this madness had afflicted my mother, if it beckoned to her the same way it did me.

If it whispered to her as her mind was breaking that it’d offer blessed peace if only she gave herself over to it.

Because I knew that whisper, felt it deep in my soul when its promises of understanding and belonging echoed in my chest.

The familiar echo of hooves on graveled road pierced my daze, drawing my eye to the only road leading in or out of Duskfen.

Off in the distance, a merchant’s caravan entered over the boundary, pulled by a chestnut steed.

Even from here, I could see a driver seated on the perch, but the distance was too far for his appearance to be clear.

I suppose it was time to return home.

As an Elder, one of my father’s duties was to greet and host the traveling merchants, making sure they knew and understood our community’s laws.

He’d house them, feed them, and make introductions to all the affluent families and businesses.

In return, the merchants often bestowed gifts, offering a few of their finest wares.

And as his daughter, I was expected to make myself useful, obediently waiting like a wallflower.

Seen, not heard.

And sometimes, if it made a good enough impression, they’d secretly offer me gifts as well.

This was how I managed to acquire my beloved art supplies.

My charcoals, watercolors, oil paints, and the parchment.

And of course, my romance novels. I could never forget those.

They were as guilty a pleasure as the Darkwood and hidden just as well.

At first, it started innocently enough, indulging in mild fantasy lands, but then a roguish hero kissed his ravishing damsel with so much passion my cheeks had stained crimson for nearly a fortnight.

From that point on, I was hooked.

I’d stay up into the wee hours, devouring the words on the page by candlelight until my eyes could scarcely remain open.

Eventually, I’d even managed to fake indifference when asking the merchants if they had any in their possession, could remain neutral as I ignored their knowing smirks.

They’d hand the books over, and I’d take my horde of treasures to their hiding places til I could use them.

Gathering my things into a worn leather satchel, I stood, brushing the hay from my skirts and corset, before making sure not a single hair was out of place, still piled high on my head.

At least, I hoped.

After taking a deep breath, I slung the satchel over my shoulder and peered around the hay bale, trying to remain hidden until I knew no one would see me.

There wasn’t a soul in sight.

Squaring my shoulders, I bid my feet to move, but they refused, my boots planted firmly in the dirt.

Whatever was inside the Darkwood was calling out for me to turn, to stay.

But I shut my eyes to it, fighting it back as I forced myself to move, to put distance between me and the siren song of the shadows.

I’d spent too long being so near them today. I should have made myself leave at least an hour prior, but I’d told myself I had time. That I could prepare for supper later.

The Darkwood was influencing my decisions without me knowing, and I only realized once I’d fought back. Once I was separated from it.

But that was the issue; I couldn’t seem to get far enough away.

Even nestled under the sheets of my own bed, safe in my father’s house at the center of the village, I could still feel that pull low in my belly.

The shadows of that forest were too tightly coiled around my bones, and I knew I’d never escape them.