This cruel world

***

I met evil when I was only a child. Forgotten long ago because of magic that was not meant to be. Confined in the same room, to sleep, to eat, my only company was the fresh air coming through the open windows that was the only doorway to sanity, and yet, I could never use it. The fact that freedom is so close, and yet so far is frightening, but is that not how the world works?

Does the lion apologise to the sheep for being at the top of the food chain? No. They accept their role and enjoy the feast ahead of them. I am not the lion. And nor will I ever be. I am the sheep, my future dry as dust.

When you learn how to control your feelings, through centuries of being confined in one space, you learn that insanity wins over grief or anger. You learn that you become very dangerous when you learn to control your feelings.

I am not dangerous. And yet I could be.

Not everyone is innocent. When you have nowhere to go, stuck in one place, the only company, your sorrow and agony, long gone, you become so much worse. Some might think that you are not as evil as you might think. But that might not be true.

I am too old, and yet, I have not seen it all. I have seen nothing but the trees shadowing the tall tower that I have lived in for years. There are no humans. No animals. Just trees. You might call that peace, but to me, this is torture.

I had always wanted to be far away from the bustling streets in the valley, people shouting at the innocent. But now, I regret my ignorant decision.

It is true that you should not pray to the witches at night, for something bad will happen.

I miss the bright shine of the day as everyone wakes up in the morning, walking down the sidewalk, preparing to work in their suits of grey. I cherish the moments in which mother made her waffles, with a side of butter and maple syrup. When she would take me to school. But here, in this forest, constricted in this tower, there is none of that. And it’s all my fault.

Yet I still have hope, that one day I will be free to roam those streets once more, and knock on my parents birch door to be greeted with warm hugs and kisses. I wish that I can have my life once more.

One day, that wish will come true. No matter what I, Ragina, have to do to get it.

***

The moon cast an eerie glow on the already dark room, ghosts swimming in pools of black, staring at their reflection, shrouded in gloom. They stare at themselves in the gold mirror standing straight at the edge of the room, only to venture around the edges once more, drifting midair.

From the clouds above come endless showers of colourless snow, the flakes falling with their cold hearts to the bottom, trapped in an endless pile of white, only for it to melt tomorrow morning, their souls long forgotten by tomorrow afternoon. They flutter lazily to the ground silhouetting the trees. I sat on the cold tiles, savouring the icy breeze brushing the room, throwing and disassembling every item only to travel back outside. My gaze was focused on every fall of white, my hands shaking violently, playing a haunting tune on my ebony violin. I drift with the sound, my mind cast to a palace of unknown memories, those that are not mine but the witches herself, binding herself to me in silver threads that will never break, no matter how hard you try or how fragile the strings look, they will always be at the command of the mistress. Her contour stares keenly into me, her gaze burning my bare back but I continue to move my hand plucking at the strings, bow in hand striking at the notes only to create a cacophony of music in the quiet room. And yet - although I am playing loudly - the sound does not play to the forest outside, the trees do not shift and dance to the music as I hoped they would, they sit still, the memory of me long gone.

I was the girl that had prayed to the witches only to regret my decision. Even during my sleep I can hear the trees snickering, glancing at the window to see my form laying still on the pillows, whispering gossip about the girl who had prayed to the witch at night. And when morning comes they lay still, pretending to have forgotten about that dumb girl as she tiredly prepares breakfast, wishing for death to steal her away, and yet the witch brings her memory by keeping that tether tied to an invisible cuff that will tie her to this world, even if it where to disappear.

“Cordelia.” I whisper into the darkness. The music stops, the violin strings vibrating at the strength of the bow as it brushes back and forth, playing effortlessly. They relax, tension gone as I shift my position, laying the violin delicately on it’s padded box. A whisper of wind enters the room just as soft calloused hands touch my shoulder, the shadow weightless on my skin. I steel my back, my body tensing as the shadow nears, sitting behind me without any noise. I settle into the silence, trying to calm my rapid breathing as I feel the heat radiating from her body. I close my eyes, the speedy beat of my heart settling back to it’s normal pace, and yet the tension is slow to leave. My head relaxes at the familiar weight of the brush as it slides through the thick strands of my hair, the brush light, grazing my skin lightly.

“Please.” I whisper to the darkness, the ghosts swimming quickly in the cold breeze, dancing without any music.

“Did you not miss me dear.” Her voice is a constant reminder of my past, a reminder of my tiresome future. A voice that I surely did not miss, and never will. That voice haunts my nightmare, although it is soft, and calm, silky in her throat, one meant to soothe one’s pain, it only increased mine.

“No.”

She pulls back, the intense heat at my back calming down only to be replaced by the bitter air.

“So ungrateful for a kind gesture. That will get you nowhere dear.” Her footsteps are light on the wooden panelling, no creak following her as she moves swiftly. As if she were flying.

“Where else do I have to go?”

“Everywhere if you wish for it.” She twirls, her dress catching in the air, lifting up to reveal her stockings.

“I learned never to pray to a witch when I was a child.”

“And yet you did. You were a foolish kid, who had begged for help.”

“I was no fool.”

“It would do you no good to contradict me.” Her voice was backed up with an edge of steel, a warning to be careful with my next approach, and yet I never follow the warning, my scars would tell you so.

“Why would it not?” My gaze burns into her as she comes closer, her legs only in view at the edge of my vision. She crouches near me, her puffy dress billowing out on the floor.

“Dear, do you know how hard it is to see you in pain when I punish you. But I have to, in order for you to be a good girl. I have no choice.” Her hand lightly caresses my chin, directing my gaze to hers.

“You always have a choice.” My voice rises, spit coming out of my mouth.

“You will learn that no one ever has a choice my dear, like I have no choice but to punish you now for being disrespectful. No one likes a disrespectful child.” Her other hand cradles my cheek, and I kneel into her motherly touch, wishing for it once more, but then pain bursts at my shoulder, then my chest, and I know. I know that this time there will be no mercy. There never was.

***

Pain knocks on the door and walks right in, the visitor that leaves in their own time. All we can do is learn from it, grow in our empathy for others in pain, and do what we can to recover and regain good health.

I lay on the concrete tiles, squeezing my eyes shut in agony. The witch is nothing but a wisp of air now, leaving a trail of her presence by coating me in a thick layer of dried blood.

I savour the cold of the bathroom tiles under my touch, surrendering to the gravity pulling me down to the tiles. I lay my head, forgetting about my red hands as I brush the sweat away from my face. I try to grip the rim of the porcelain sink and try to steady my hands, standing up on my legs now. Slowly, I lift my bodice, cringing as the material touches the wound.

I can take the fall, the pain, the pleasure, and yet, this time I cannot ignore the ache in my back, and the wound stretching along my chest, widening as I try to move. But I give in to the acceptance that I will never escape from this. She will take it all for worse or better.

I make my way to the bed, laying down on the soft mattress in anguish, struggling to rip off the dress.

The trees shiver in the distance with a rustle, closing in to the window, trying to see from the closed blinds. There was no point in continuing on. Why do I never let go? Why do I put myself through the pain? Why? Why did that ignorant child wish to leave this world? Why?

Tears stream down my face, making their way down to my throat. They turn into gasps for air, and croaks of pain, but I still cry, because I know sometime soon I will forfeit to the darkness.