Sereja Volyakoga: Chaos

[triple]

21 Nisan (April)

Painful Memories make us whole.

Mother dug into the ground. One hand, then the other hand, “It’s easy, this manipulation my lovely girl. It’s like planting this seed.” She put the seed into the ground with her dark fingers. They had the same fingers and the same hand. Only, hers was younger, “All you must do, is plant one seed and water it. Talk to it. Watch it grow.” She paused only to continue as she covered it completely with dirt. Sereja was on her knees, watching her mother as a five year old.

The memory of her mother, looking at her and kissing her on the forehead. Her mother was beautiful. A prize in Sly-Var she was. Her mother had gotten quite the bride price when her father of thirty-eight, married her mother.

“Remember…to nurture it.” The memory of her mother on her deathbed. Years later. A small hand raked over Sereja’s cheek.

“Remember…to nurture it.” The memory of her mother and her father leading the way up to the old Lawgiving church in Nordenvall Fane, raining and muddy. Smelly corpses permeating the air.

“Breath.” She said to her dead mother on her dead bed, whispering in her ear. Her grubby fingers slowly closed her open eyes.

“Breath.” Her mother said as they entered the Lawgiver church. The Mulan looked at the child, with contempt. Murder in their eyes. Hatred. She was holding her breath until she turned pale.

A strong man with blackest black and red trim lifted up a blade, a death halberd. The chopping motion swung down and her father’s head rolled. His blood splattered on her brown dress. Across her child’s neck and those lips quivered. Her mother squeezed her neck to tell her to not speak, no emotion. She watched her father’s life blood leave his body via his neck. The eyes looked at her as the Lawgivers gathered it up and took it elsewhere. That is the day she truly broke. That is the day – that she was reborn.

“Liar. Liar. Liar!” Her husband said, “You’re a -liar- woman!” He screamed in Vaasi. Pushing her against the old stove in their hut. She landed next to it and curled into a ball, crying. In pain and sorrow.

Her hands balled into fists. Her heart was cold. It grew frigid as a stone and locked itself away where no one could find it.

Murderer.

“You’re a terror.” She was planting a seed in her garden. Dropping it down, “You’re nothing.” The male voice told her from over her shoulder.

In times of pain, in times of suffering, we are reborn into the people we were truly meant to be. The people made from torment and chaos. The people of murder and storm. May the eternal flames consume your soul and tear you apart so you may be rebuilt into a better image.

But in the end, I know who I am.

The taste of your lips.

The blood on my hands.

The laughter bubbling from my throat. What have I become from the child I was? These questions, I don't ask myself. These questions are behind a red door I keep to myself. And I don't think about. Perhaps I will think about it when the axe is on my neck. When I am reflecting my life. Perhaps I shall never reflect again.

[triple]

19 May

Love and Sacrifice

My path was set before me from the moment I was born. And from the moment I was born, I was a nuisance. But my mother and my father loved me. They didn't care if they had a son or a daughter. My mother just wanted me to be happy. She tried to provide me with everything I needed, whether it be a simple doll made out of a sock and straw with small wooden buttons. What did mother sacrifice for me? What did she sacrifice for my father? She didn't sacrifice anything for my father and I just came naturally. Rashemi are not supposed to sacrifice anything because they have nothing to sacrifice. Their souls to the Lawgiver and their sons for more hard labor. Their daughters perhaps in the future to work in respective Mulani households. Their daughters cannot marry. Their daughters will never be married. The state does not recognize marriage for a Rashemi. I will never be able to take a man's name. Thus proclaims the Mulani and the Lawgiver supports it.

Years later, there I was, scrubbing the polished marble floors of a Mulani master. The same family of Mulan we had served for generations. I cannot even remember when we started. Perhaps my grandfather had a large debt. We do not even have our own language anymore it is said. As I was scrubbing the floor, of which the mess came from a Mulani child, that same child came up kicked me in the face. He started to snicker loudly. Blood draining from my nose. But I had to remember, it is just a ten year old. Nothing could be done. I shouldn't do anything. I was merely fifteen myself. Normally, if he had been a Rashemi child, had he been male I would have just turned myself away. A girl? Well, a lesson would be taught. Just as that happened, a random glass face burst into a thousand pieces. Thankfully, the masters were not home. A trusted Rashemi maid came down and she looked at me. The Mulani child was clearly scared. So scared he ran from the room. The Rashemi made looked at me, knowing. And wordlessly started to help me clean up the mess.

That is the first time that I knew I was different. I had powers. Salient powers that resided and rested within me, only to grow stronger as I grew into a woman. Powers, I could not control. These things, I remember. They are things that I cannot forget.

Like the first time I saw his eyes looking into my own. The first time I saw them flash at me in such a friendly and playful way. The grey in them is the first thing I remember of how peculiar a color they were. But I remembered them. The way they made me feel when he first saw me. But I didn't really take the time to speak with him. Just that passing glance. Later, I would kick myself for wasting time. Time...that is what I don't have enough of. When I am told to not waste my time with relationships, that my study is far more important. What if it is something that I cannot help. What if it is something that I cannot control. Just like the place in which I was born.

Of all the experiences I have been with. Of all the people I have been around this is the most noteworthy. And I know for a fact he will be there till the end for me. Even if I fall, he will wait for me. He said so himself. If I stray, he will wait for me down the road of light. But I cannot imagine a man such as he, would know me, know what I represent and who I am and still wisht to be with me, despite it all.

I have fears, but I have no doubts. I think that one day it will end because it is so good. Like a medicine to a cancer that eats me, he heals me. He heals my broken heart. And I will forever be in his debt because I know what he did. Have I made a sacrifice for him? I have. And I am sure many more will need to be made before whatever fate that landed him in front of me will be satisfied.

My studies are going well. Lectures are all up to par, or so I hear. But I cannot help but be quite suspicious that some people -- mostly the people in Dementlieu have found some strange powers. Can I even imagine making an entire church disappearing? Though, the Ezrites were not pleased at all but for what it was, it was an astounding feat. But I fear Stella likely is in over her head. And I fear that her soul will also soon be consumed. Because such power as that does not come without a bit of sacrifice.

In all, I am a servant. I have always been a servant and I will always be one. No matter who is my master. It is in my blood. But I cannot help but feel, sometime wants to escape. To get out. To release itself. What will I sacrifice for great power? Or will I leave it behind me -- and be satisfied with what I have. I am quite a content lady now days.

But how will it end for me? Will I lose my mind or will I return from that. Redeem myself for my past and what I have done? Will I continue or..not? Time is not my friend, but I am a patient woman. My thoughts are always so scattered, it is a wonder I keep them together at all to say proper sentences.

I do wonder how the dwarves are doing. I haven't seen anyone but Dave recently. And Dirge could probably be considered a dwarf with the way he crafts with his hands. Dirge used to be so happy. I remember. And now? He is..so serious always.