Gwendoline's Story

  ~~~

  Gwendoline woke the next morning to someone shaking from her senses. She could be glad that she had pulled brown hair back into a tight braid before turning in or the mass of it would have slung all about. She struggled to open her eyes to face her assailant.

  Her mother sat on the edge of her bed. “What did you say to Old Cora?”

  Gwendoline spared no haste in rising as her sleep fogged mind tried to piece together the events of the day before.

  Her mother’s amber eyes fell sharply upon her. She did not wait for her daughter’s reply. “Cora has asked your uncle to transfer her to another High Councilor’s Realm.”

  Gwendoline’s brow curled with bewilderment though she felt so much more in herself, in her mother. Images, terrible and frightful rushed through her, sensations she had never known before.

  Her mother continued. “He granted her wish. Cora has been in this place since before my mother gave me light. She has never in a moment expressed any displeasure. She left before Greater cast rays across the horizon. What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing.” Gwendoline finally spoke. “I asked why people smile when they know a smile does not disguise intent.”

  Amber eyes became yet wider, then Gwendoline felt a sudden shift to sadness then fear then protectiveness as if had one asked her to slit her own throat to spare her daughter to spare the girl’s life, she would not give it a second thought. This feeling scared Gwendoline more than anything. Why would anyone wish to see her strand cut? She had never harmed anyone. Had she hurt someone unawares?

  The mother threw protective arms around her. Tears filled those amber eyes. “We have sheltered you so here. It is not your fault. How could you know? You must never tell anyone what you have told me. Never what you said to Cora. Your life depends on it. Please believe me. Do you understand? Never tell anyone that you can see intent.”

  A quick and forceful nod overtook the girl’s head. But she did not understand. Though questions burned through her, her mother’s eyes told her she must not ask?

  “We must hope that she has told no one, will tell no one. It is the only hope we have left in Three Worlds.” The mother rose from the fluffy bed directly into frenzied pace. High heels clacked against cold marble, echoing across the great room sparsely furnished.

  Gwendoline stood up just after, reaching out to the frantic woman as she again near her, bringing her to an abrupt stop beside her only child. Gwendoline stood half a head taller than the woman who gave her light, yet somehow she wished to hide behind her. Uncertainty rushed her mind and did not recede.

  “Well, get dressed for breakfast. We must not be late.” Her mother turned from her, adjusting a skirt frilled and frolicking about in the dance of lace and curls.

  Gwendoline could only comply. She rushed to an armoire and placed a delicate manicured fingers upon the inlay carved across the doors, before opening them wide to reveal a jungle of colorful dresses, petticoats, corsets and scarves tumbling out at her as if stallions unfenced. With a quick jerk she pulled a dress free from a wooden hanger, before slipping a sleeping gown up over her head and then pulling the dress down sender hips into place. No time to lace a corset. She turn to her mother standing strong and straight by her round mirror lathering powder across her face, trying to hide the red now streaking fair, fair cheeks, attempting to conceal the puffing of sadness-stricken eyes.

  Then the two departed that place, out into what might at that moment have been equated to a lion’s den. They walked hand in hand down the stone stair case. Gwendoline dragged one hand down the golden banister, bumping her thumb across the rise and fall of a master carver’s fine work wanting to feel something, anything that was not the fear that weighted her mother’s breath.

  Gwendoline felt the tension in the Dining Hall before she stepped foot past the archway and she knew in an instant that her uncle knew. Cora, who had just the day before praised her kind and gentle heart, had apparently before leaving told her uncle of Gwendoline’s question. The question of which she could still not say what was wrong.

  She straightened her thick, heavy skirts and took her seat near the head of the table. Her uncle did not try to smile. His face, his gestures, his stance matched the shades that stirred within him. Then he lashed out at her with a knife in hand. Seeing blade approach, Gwendoline pressed against the high back of her chair to avoid the sharpness of it. She tumbled back with frills and lace cascading one step behind her. Wood clacked against the marble floor, no less than her head. It spun and swam then she felt a body fall across her. “Please, Brother, not my baby.” Colossal tears rained down from her mother’s cheeks.

  “You know what she is. She is not your baby. She is one possessed by the Dreamer’s curse. She’s a monster. You know that a Dreamer can never be permitted to live. You know this, My Sister. They see things no one should see. They are dangerous beyond words. How did we not recognize it before now? ” Her uncle shook his head. “Step aside, Sister. You know it must be done.”

  Her mother looked up from her, caught her brother’s eyes. “I’ll send her away. You will never see her again. She will never be able to harm you again. I beg of you, spare her.”

  Gwendoline lay there under her mother’s weight. She listened as they spoke of her as if she were not even there, as the uncle who had showered upon her every affection, called her a monster. But she felt their intent more than the words they spoke. Terror ran through her mother, and through her uncle betrayal, fear and hatred. The essences of their souls overtook her. She had never known such pain. Her uncle’s blade could only be seen as means to end it.

  He cast her mother aside, in swift strong grasp. Gwendoline watched the fire in her amber eyes as she slid across the floor. Then a hand met her hair as the man who she called her beloved uncle pulled her up before him and slid a knife to her throat. She could do nothing, but watch his eyes and the emotion that mulled behind them.

  He spoke to her without words. He told her of his sorrow and his pain in the duty that fell upon his hands, quite human after all. Then his grip released. Her legs could no longer hold her. She collapsed to the cold stone.

  “Take her away from here.” He spoke as a High Councilor. Her beloved uncle had fled.

  Gwendoline’s mother scooted up to her daughter, threw her arms around her. “I will.”

  “If I ever see her again…”

  Gwendoline looked up at him, “You don’t have to say it.”

  “Good.” The man turned away from them before disappearing behind a high archway.