Fallinde's Gate

"One strike," she whispers as she watches the storm through her window. The lightning lashes through the sky like a silver whip. "One, two, three, four, five --". Another low rumble echoes through the village. "One mile away." A moment of silence, then -- "Another strike. One, two, three --". Thunder. "It's getting closer," she mumbles, clambering over to her wooden shutters to push them open farther.

A trickle of cool rain splatters her face as she leans out of the window, the wind, too, blowing gently at her chilled skin. And she says nothing at all, her grey eyes gazing at an invisible dot in the distance, as if lost in thought.

Something glimmers in her eyes. The whites seem to sparkle even brighter than the stars above. One might mistake it for hope or longing, but really, Lhyriel knows it is her grief. And that same grief is what keeps her at that window, staring into the night; that same grief is that which leaks from her eyes like salty rivers.

She does not hide her tears, but the rain seems to disguise them well, her snivels, too, lost in the quiet crackles of thunder. Perhaps, for this reason, the girl is alone in her crying. Perhaps the entire country of Fallinde is unaware of her sorrow. Yet she does not halt in her weeping. Isolated and dejected, the girl does not wish to stop. Even when the storm passes. Even when the rain fades. Even when the sun begins to wake from its slumber. For tonight is her grandfather's night. A night to pay respects. And Lhyriel cannot let herself find happiness until she has sought through her pain.

Lhryiel awakes past noon the following day. Golden hair spilling over the sides of her straw-stuffed mattress, she does little to draw herself out of her deep sleep. Instead, she replays last night's dream over in her head. It was an odd dream. Her grandfather was there, almost as if it were any ordinary day. And she can't get past his smile -- how real it seemed! Perhaps even too much so. But something was off about it. Lhyriel cannot decide if she is pleased or not to have dreamt of him. She suppose it was nice to forget of his death, even if only for a few minutes, but its eeriness of it seems to daunt over her, and she finds little else to think about as the day goes on.

The house is rather quiet as she tugs various garments off and onto her body. Normally Grandfather would be awake by now, she thinks, but no one appears to be there. Sighing, she pulls on the remainder of her outfit: a pair of brown, woolen stockings and lace-up boots, before looking down at herself one last time. She is wearing her mother's old dress today, or at least that is what Grandfather told her. A red gown, she can imagine it would have looked rather pretty fifteen years ago when her mother wore it. But since then, it has worn with age, and several patches of cloth in mismatching patterns have been stitched on to fill holes.

Come to think of it, many of her clothes once belonged to her mother. Lhyriel often wonders what her mother was like. She has little to go off besides her grandfather's stories of her, and even he has always told her very little. She was a very beautiful and kind woman she recalls him saying to her, but he has never said any more than that.

"Good morning, Braith. How is the bakery going?" Lhyriel says by way of greeting, stepping inside the pleasantly-scented building before pushing the door closed behind her.

"Dear Gods, Lhyriel, You don't have to work today," the woman replies. She is a rather stout woman, wrinkles showing quite prominently in her round face. Lhyriel has never asked the woman her age directly, in case it may be perceived as offensive, but she would guess at least forty from the many children she bears.

"No, it's okay. I need the money," Lhyriel answers, taking it upon herself to pull on a white apron and a matching white flannel for her hair.

"Of course," Braith mutters, walking in and out of view as she picks up several pots, pans and trays whilst simultaneously taking bread in and out of the ovens. Lhyriel often wonders how the woman multi-tasks so easily without forgetting all that she was doing entirely.

"Is there anything you would like me to help you with?" The young girl asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Just the bread today, dear."

Lhyriel nods, stretching back her fingers before planting her hands on the dough, As she needs, she is pulled into the familiar rhythm: left, up, right down. It grasps her attention whole, allowing her to forget of the grandfather she mourns over.

It is gone evening by the time Lyriel finishes her shift, pulling off her apron and dusting down her flower-smeared dress.

"You can have the day off tomorrowing, or Gods forbid, you might faint of exhaustion!" Braith tuts in disapproval, like a mother scolding her child. She has always been like this, but Lhyriel does not mind it. Ever since her mother died, Braith has been the closest woman to a mother she has ever had. And even with all her nagging and their bickering, she would not changer her for the world.

"I don't need the day off. And besides, I need to earn money."

"And I'll pay you on your day off. Just as much as you'd earn normally," Braith counters.

"But surely you need help."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, dear. Now why don't you go home and get some rest." She pauses for a moment, looking anxious as she says this. She frowns, as if having an argument in her head. Lhyriel is left to wonder why the woman seems so concerned all of a sudden for she resumes speaking as if nothing happened. "Come to think of it, you'd best sleep at my house for a while"

"Why?"

"Do you want to sleep on your own in that house? Anyway, my children would enjoy your company." Braith is right. Lhyriel does not enjoy the prospect of walking into that house again, especially now it is so empty.

"Fine," she says at last. "If you don't mind having me."

“Of course not!" Braith smiles, but her eyes don't quite match. They are still laced with concern, fear, and another emotion Lhyriel can't quite identify. She does not push the woman for any more answers however; she looks exhausted enough, so she decides to leave it until tomorrow.

---

The quiet evening is quick to turn noisy as Braith pushes open her front door. About a dozen high-pitched shrieks fill the cool air, so deafening that Lhyriel finds it hard not to cover her ears. She briefly hears Braith lecture the children before they head inside and close the front door.

"Sorry about the noise. They'll calm down soon enough," the baker woman says, herding the children forward like a dog herding sheep. The children run through the hallway in unison, and Lhyriel finds them almost to be like a little army. The two follow the infants out into the main room, at which point Braith begins to light the stove, sending a yellow, flickering glow about the walls.

"Make yourself at home," she says, once again busy preparing another meal.

Lhyriel gently pushes her way through the group of knee-height children before settling herself down on a wooden bench. However, they seem to follow her, and they are soon all surrounding her, grabbing and clinging onto her as they please. They hit and elbow each other, arguing who gets to sit the closest to their new guest, but their faces remain gleeful, as excitable as a litter of puppies.

"Settle down, the lot of you," says the mother, her face focused as she stirs a spoon around a pot at the table. When none of the children seem particularly interested in following their mother's instructions, Braith speaks again, "You know, whoever sits down quietly for the longest gets extra helping of beef stew. And I also brought some apple tarts from the bakery." This seems to halt the noise around the room at once, all chitter-chatter silenced in hopes of extra helpings of beef stew and apple tarts. Lhyriel admires this quality in Braith. The way she can control her children with little need to raise her voice. She wonders how the mother doesn't lose her mind from the chaos that the children seem to bring with them.

At last (and after many games of hide and seek, plating hair, and playing a variety of make believe games such as prince and princesses) Lhyriel finds herself in bed. Well, on a pile of straw in the middle of a room full of six children. She tries to close her eyes, but it is early for her to go to sleep, and whenever she opens them, she finds many eyes gawking at her.

"Do you know any stories?" One of the girls whispers to her. Mila is her name, perhaps around the age of eleven, and one who seemed particularly reluctant to leave her sight.

"I might know a few. What sort of story would you like to hear?" she replies.

"One about witches!"

Lhyriel pauses for a second, thinking. Then, "Very well." Clearing her throat, she begins, "Once upon a time there was a witch. But she was not the colour green, and there were no warts on her face. She was very beautiful for a witch, in fact, and many called her the fairest in the land. She spent many years in hiding, moving from village to village. And she was successful. For many years, no one knew of her secret powers, but one day, that all changed. For she met a man. A prince, but she did not know it at the time. They met at a forest, he while hunting deer and she while gathering potion ingredients.

'And who might you be?' He asked her.

'I'm just a woman from a village. And you?'

'The son of a blacksmith,' the prince lied. And the witch believed him. Months of nightly strolls through the forest, and even secret kisses far away from everyone else. She had no idea he was a prince.

"But as their relationship grew, she began telling her secrets; of her magic and her witchcraft. And he seemed to love her regardless of her powers, or at least that is what she thought. For just a few days later, she was executed. Dozens of people watched as her head rolled onto the floor. And they cheered, throwing parties throwing all over the country. The prince was crowned a hero, for he was the one who told the king of the witch. After months of lying and deceit, he betrayed her. All for the fame that came with her capture. And now, the witch pays for her stupidity in a world of demons, whilst the prince bathes in coins of gold."

When Lhyriel finishes her story, Mila is gaping at her. And so are the other children, eyes wide in shock. They instantly bombard her with questions such as: 'did he really love her?' or 'did he just get away with it?’. But Lhyriel just shrugs.

"It's an old tale and there are many different versions. Some say the witch never died and her attendance at the execution was all an illusion. Some say she swapped bodies with the prince, so he would be executed instead, and she rewarded in his riches," Lhyriel says dramatically. The children gasp, firing her with even more questions. After answering a few more, her eyes begin to sting from fatigue, and she says at last, "I'm afraid I'm too tired to answer any more questions. Why don't we go to sleep?"

And at that, Braith's children (reluctantly) begin to quiet. One by one, their eyes shut, and gentle snores can be heard throughout the room. Lhyriel is the last to fall asleep, despite the weariness that takes control of her; she cannot stop thinking of the man whom she grieves.