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500 BCE: Alba Minor

NO ENTRY RECEIVED.

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250 BCE: Ishani Pemmaraju

When Dhanesh all but staggered through the door to their house long after the sun had set, Ishani knew better than to ask why. After all, the answer was always the same.
The servants had long since bustled away, and the lavish dinner had been prepared since sundown. As sunset had come and gone three hours ago, what remained after the family and guests had eaten their fill was lukewarm to the touch and unappetizing in the light of the low-burning lamps. Rich odors of mouthwatering meat and spices had long since been taken by the breeze through an open window, leaving only faint traces to tickle the senses with memories of cinnamon lassis and chicken with cumin seasoning.
Ishani gave her husband a considering look— it was difficult to predict whether she could hold a conversation with him after days like this. When she was lucky, the emperor demanded little of his trusted consul, and the weight of his toils was light. On those days, she could see again the smiling man who had taken her hand all those years ago.
Eying the deep creases exhaustion had pressed into Dhanesh's face, Ishani knew she wasn't going to be so lucky.
Deciding the time was now right, she raised her voice. "At least have some mango before you go to bed. It will give you strength for tomorrow."
Dhanesh paused his slow shamble towards their bedchambers, turning an imploring look towards his wife. She responded with a perfectly neutral expression, not allowing herself so much as a flicker of anger or pity. After a moment, he trudged his way to the table and took a seat by her side, noting an array of food on a suspiciously fresh-seeming plate. He reached for the sliced mango, read Ishani's unchanging expression, and changed direction for the seasoned chicken and rice instead.
She softened, then, and relaxed her previously rigid posture into something more approaching welcome. Dhanesh awarded her with a weary smile that was genuine for all it drained him.
"Troublesome woman," he muttered around a bite of chicken. His chewing sped instantly after the first mouthful and the delectable taste reminded him of his hunger.
"You shame me, my husband," Ishani said primly. Dhanesh grinned at that, and for a moment seemed neither old nor tired. "You would have every noble in the court think me a nagging shrew."
"You do nag, my love. And I have no idea how I would survive without it. By the gods, this is good. Did Padma make this?"
Ishani shook her head. "You can tell it isn't Padma's because the spices haven't set your mouth on fire yet. Your son's wife-to-be swears by this recipe, and her family lent us their cook for the evening so that we could taste it for ourselves."
Dhanesh swallow, then creased his brows in confusion. "My son's wife-to...oh. Ishani."
She considered assuming the neutral expression again, but decided it was ultimately counterproductive. "You may wish to apologize to Kanwalinder. He was rather looking forward to his dinner honoring his betrothal, particularly since it has been a great while since he has dined with his father."
Her own weariness and hurt laced her tone this time, and Dhanesh's head sank in shame. "My love, I...I have no excuse. The emperor commanded me to direct the dissembling of military supplies yesterday, and I grew worried about testing his patience. I completely forgot about the dinner. Do you think Jasmira's family will ever forgive me?"
"They were hardly pleased by your absence, I can assure you. But Jasmira is a good girl, and I'm sure she won't ask her cook to poison you as vengeance. You may not wish to mention that you found supply distributions more interesting than their company."
"Perhaps not." They sat in relative silence for a few minutes as Dhanesh finished his plate, and then for another few as he reached for the soup, noticed it had Padma's distinctive odor of fiery spices, and took some panjiri to devour in its place.
A moment after his last mouthful, he sighed with satisfaction. "I'd forgotten what food tastes like when Padma doesn't prepare it. One of these days we have to find a new cook and give ourselves a bit of true luxury. "
Ishani considered Padma, a ferocious crone with scathing, hilariously articulate derision for everyone who was not Ishani or Ishani's children. "Perhaps one day, my husband. Until then, I appreciate that she attempts to keep you lively. Until Lord Ashoka releases you into a peaceful retirement, I suspect fire in your meals is the only thing that keeps you from falling asleep among your records."
Dhanesh chuckled without humor. "I'm beginning to think that day will never arrive, my love. Somewhere around the eighth hour staring at figures, I begin to suspect he'll keep me until I drop dead. Even then, it wouldn't surprise me if he found some use for my corpse."
Ah. So it was one of those nights, the resentment which lived only between too exhausted to care and light enough not to bother. Ishani stood abruptly. She never cared for these nights, however much they were deserved.
"You are weary from your labors, my husband. I think it is for the best if you would come to bed. We have work to do in the morning. There are apologies that must be said, regardless of whether or not the fault was yours. I would see you make them rested and ready."
Dhanesh didn't move, frustration clouding his features. "There is so much to do, Ishani. Everyone needs my wisdom, my rulings, my assurance that I know what must be done. I...I never felt this way before, but there is such a sense of powerlessness, knowing Ashoka will take me at my word and have my head if I bungle it."
She paused on her way. "That is because you are a man, Dhanesh." The use of his name pulled his gaze up. "A wise man, but a man. Only the gods see all. You can only be responsible for what you know and understand, and be content once you have done all you can."
Her looked up at her, eyes still clouded. "And how will I know that?"
Ishani laughed gently. "I will tell you. As I am telling you now. And you know I have yet to be wrong."

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80s: Bella Fiore

The windows in the villa were quite peculiarly set up. The sun rose in just a way that the intense beams of light would stab your eyes like a gladiator's sword. I was still not very appreciative of that.
"Ah, I'm running behind," I noted, staring blankly into the flurry of activity before me. "Well."
A young servant beside me forcefully yanked a burlap blanket over his cot. "Bella, get up. You're supposed to tend to the son this morning." He lamented, casting me an irritated glance.
"Futuo."
Groaning, I gingerly pulled myself out of bed, tempted to fall into a heap on the floor. "I was running errands yesterday, and I didn't get back until after sundown." The cold stone sent shivers up my spine, feet itching with the sudden chill.
Domitia, another servant, snickered. "Yeah, well, I was up before sunrise because someone had forgotten to purchase more fruit."
"Oh, that's rough.." I replied groggily, rubbing remnants of a fitful sleep from my eyes. I half-heartedly began tidying my cot, cursing under my breath as the darn thing started to tip.
"Bella! Forget your bed, get upstairs! You're seven years my elder, you'd think I'd be the one taking commands!" The young servant snapped. "You're all getting flogged, just watch and see."
My lips twisted into a frown, looking bedraggled and irritated as I abandoned my (rather messy) cot and padded into the atrium of my villa.
A thin layer of dust covered the floor, though a gentle breeze swept through. A young woman dashed across the open space, a bundle of cloth in her arms. Her eyes were wild, full of panic.
'Love when they bring in new workers.' I thought with amusement, as one of the piles of fabric tumbled to the floor. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of urine and her whirlwind of anxiety, though a quick glance at the sun had me scurrying towards the cooking room just as fast.
My bare feet slapped against a flight of stairs. 'Futuo, forgot my sandals again." I realized quite suddenly, stopping in my tracks. A servant borderline running slammed into me from behind, a woven basket in his hands.
"Watch it! I'm on a tight schedule!" He snapped, shoving past me angrily.
Wincing, I blew past several maids, nearly bumping into a poor young boy while the villa sprung to life. Servants yelled at one another, somewhat of an organized chaos erupting from within. "Would someone help me carry this jug of water?" Domitia hollered, struggling to yank a large barrel up a set of stairs. "Can't, I've got documents to deliver!"
Several replies of "busy!" echoed through the hall.
A few sharp twists and another flight of stairs got me to a large, oval room, filled the occupied servants. "Bella, you lazy landica, you need to take this to Octavia; she's awoken early!" The eldest of the servants all but screeched.
"Yes, I'm aware of both facts, thank you," I replied curtly once I'd woven through the mess that was the cooking room.
My balancing act of moving quickly around the villa with a pitcher of water and a whole tray of food proved more difficult than expected. Heck, by the time I arrived at the Senator's room, I was sticky with sweat and slightly miffed.
A personal maid greeted me at the entry with a gentle yet poorly masked look of irritation. "Thank you. He instructed you to deliver this to Balbus; he's the one from whom we purchased-"
"Last night's wine, I've been informed." I interrupted, accepting a small parcel wrapped in cloth.
Her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "Of course. You're expected back very quickly," The brunette said, placing hard emphasis on each word, "-And make sure he understands the importance of last night's dinner."
I nodded, daring to snatch a quick glance into the room beyond. "Thank you." I murmured slowly, staring at the way the sunrise cast the room into a fiery red glow. It was as if the room itself had been set aflame.
I trekked through the villa, exiting through a set of massive oak doors. Immediately, I was greeted with the scent of urine on washed clothing and the collective smell of the city. Merchants yelled expletives as they waved wealthy citizens down, farmers stood quietly with their stands, waiting for their daily load of produce to be purchased.
I kept my head down, weaving across the dirt road with nothing but callouses to protect the soles of my feet. I winced as a tiny rock stabbed into the fleshy part of my toe.
"Progress to the East! Progress to the West! Construction of the Colosseum to be completed in three days time! The Roman empire, revel in our might!" A young man hollered from atop a crate, waving news pamphlets and documentation above his head.
Nearby men and women clapped appreciatively, passing one another with a smile as they went on their way to work.
"An empire in development, a new world in the making!" He cried, stamping his feet with enthusiasm.
I wrinkled my nose as a faint smell of waste carried through the city, borne on a warm breeze. Gross.
"Toilets are quite occupied today. Hopefully, there are no explosions, no madame." Muttered an elderly man. He must have been extraordinarily old, for I could spot multiple gray hairs sprouting from his head. "Poo goes boom."
Looking for a familiar grandiose storefront, I tried my best to get all the way through the crowd without being stepped on or jostled. As the purple drapes came into view, I was slightly annoyed to see several other senators gathered around the store.
"Excuse me, sirs," I said quietly, avoiding eye contact with the men. I kept the package tucked firmly under my elbow, pushing open the door.
A hand caught my arm before I could enter, and I reluctantly turned around.
The largest of the men, one I recognized to be Caius Horatius of the senate. He shot me a friendly grin, though there was something behind his eyes I couldn't quite place. "It was lovely having Tiberius for a meeting yesterday. He makes a great Senator." He said loudly, releasing his grip. Several of his acquaintances nodded in agreement, exchanging quiet looks.
I nodded politely. "I'll be sure to relay the message." The words were quick, springing without thought.
"He must be fair to his servants, then?" Caius questioned intensely, locking eyes with me. His brown eyes seemed to burn holes into my skull, as though I was a great ball of friction.
"He is lenient."
"I noticed that, funny how he's such a transparent person."
"Of course."
After a brief moment's pause and some uncomfortable fidgeting on my part, he finally broke the silence with an obnoxious yawn. "I will not upset his hours. Be on your way."
I nodded once more, ducking into the dimly lit store without so much as a polite dipping of the head in farewell.
"Hello? I've come to deliver a package from Tiberius Pontius Blaesus." I called out, startling rather abruptly as the man popped up from behind a shelf.
He grinned broadly, rolls of fat gathering beneath his chin. "Ah, I was wondering if I'd receive something in return." He chirped, strolling over to stand before me.
I held out the parcel with a practiced smile. "A gift, in return for the excellent wine you provided. The dinner was quite important, and he appreciates the last minute request." I said blandly, watching him warily as he greedily yanked the parcel to his chest.
"Yes, yes, I appreciate it. Let him know I'll always be willing to oblige for an old friend. You may take your leave." He muttered quickly, looking at the parcel as if it was worth its weight in gold.
"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to let him know." I stressed, nearly bumping into another young man making a delivery in my haste.
He turned to me with a grin, "Ah, Bella, it was wonderful tending to Pontius Blaesus yesterday's noon. He is quite understanding." He quipped, happiness clouding the hollows of his eyes.
I glanced at him in mild confusion- as far as I could remember Tiberius has been bathing. "Yes, of course. Nice to see you once more, it's been quite some time since we've last met."
He nodded fervently. "Indeed it has, though I'm afraid I really don't have much time to chat." The cement floors overhead rang with a loud thump, as some heavy object was dropped onto the floor.
The merchant man glared angrily above him, ruddy faced though the day had only just begun. "Those servants are careless. Perhaps next time, Tiberius can send me someone competent." He grumbled, shooting an irritated look towards myself and my young friend.
"I suppose that that's my cue to leave," I whispered, backing up slowly. Romulus shot me a quick wave farewell before the door closed in front of me.
I returned home as quickly as I dared, sidestepping piles of horse waste and broken bits of wood.To my left, workers labored to complete another level of a building, while craftsmen polished all sorts of goods. To all the eyes of the city, our world was in development, not yet stained or scratched.
The man atop the stool cried out for all his might. "Long live the roman empire! Success to the East, success to the West! Developments have begun to our North, watch as we grow! A kingdom in the making!" He yelled, the papers now bunched up in his hands.
I shook my head in amusement, trying not to laugh at his commemorable fits of passion. So easily swayed were the people- progress was an intoxicating perfume. Seemed to smell a whole lot like mulch and feces, though.
After a brief morning's walk, I pushed through a side door into the villa, thanking the gods that I hadn't the need to walk far. Already, my feet were beginning to hurt.
"For god's sake, Bella! I just cleaned those tiles, you think you could avoid tracking every man's filth in here?" A young maid lamented as she paused in her vigorous cleaning.
I grinned sheepishly, somehow disgusted by the soles of my own feet. "I apologize for that. Best of luck." I quipped, skirting around the dampened floor.
Almost immediately upon entering the foyer, I was greeted with a cloth, a basket and a pair of worn sandals. Stern eyes met mine, aggravation evident. "Took you long enough. May as well have looked up some young men, it's not like your life depends on it or anything. Work. Get on it. We have until noon, because we're both tending to bathing at noon."
"Ah, futuo."

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1060s: Jorrvaskr

    CHAPTER 1: HOMECOMING

The wind blows in my hair with the familiar ocean scent. It whispers in my ears, telling me of all the beauty it has just seen. The sun beats down, turning the waters into crystals. The world bobs up and down with the waves spraying water into my face. On the prow of this knorr1 I feel like dancing. Odin knows I could care less what the crew thinks. We have let Njord2 move us for the better half of the day now which has let the crew have some time to themselves. Scjorn is drinking as he usually does. Thor is making sure everything is secure, and Skogssork is standing beside me watching the land move in painfully slow. We have been gone so long, we have made a tusen3 stops along the way. I have talked to more men than I have ever seen otherwise and witnessed more cultures than one could ever imagine, all with their own gods, trinkets and drink. But after all this time, I just can't wait to land on my most awaited shore, home. It feels like even though I know these waters like the back of my hand, I am re-discovering them. Many names and faces flood into my head. How many people will have changed? Will I even recognize them? From behind me, a deep female voice shouts.

"Jorrvaskr, Skagssork come here and help Thor!"

My eyes roll into the back of my head as I turn around. Hildi stands on the deck with her hands on her hips, a smile plastered on her face. Skogssork and I hop off the prow and make our way toward the cargo.

"Yes captain!" Skogssork says.

We get on each end of a pile of boxes covered in a linen tarp and start making sure the knots are secure. Hildi walks up beside me and slaps me atop of the head.

"You'd stand there for days on end if you could. Are you that excited to get home?" I pull a knot tighter, then chuckle.

"Yes ma'am, I am. I have missed my family so much lately."

Hildi slowly nods her head. "I am sure it is more than just your family that you are missing." Hildi winks knowingly.

She is referring to my girlfriend, Lima. Out of all the village, she is the one I have missed the most. I cannot help but think of stories told by the crew of wives that have left while a sailor was away trading. But Lima is not like that. She is so strong and brave and beautiful. She would never........ catching myself deep in thought I shake my head.

"Yes captain I suppose you are right. You also have someone special, do you not?" Hildi lets out a deep, powerful laugh.

"Yes Jorrvaskr, I have a husband and two handsome young men." There is a short pause. "They were one and three ärs3 old when I left, will they even recognise me?"

I stand up and place my hand on her shoulder. "They will, trust me."

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There is a crowd of people awaiting when we land, all cheering. The village is just how I remembered it, very quaint, but large at the same time. Just off the dock and across the road is the market which is surrounded by homes. Then, not too far away is a mountain where the longhouse4 is safely tucked away. A couple homes also dot the mountain, amongst them is the chief's. Bag slung over my shoulder, I walk onto the dock. The people make way for me as I stride past them, some patting me on the shoulder.

Edgar will be too deep into cooking by this time to hear the commotion. Edith and Biorn are probably either practicing their sword fighting or helping bake pies. Eric will still be writing or painting, it depends. I follow the main road to the far end of the market where the only professional blacksmith in the village works. The large two story building is made out of some of the largest logs I have seen. I enter to see walls lined with blades and shields as well as a single mail garment resting on a mannequin in the far corner. There is a counter not four steps from the door, behind that is broad shoulders pounding metal on an anvil. I quietly place my bag on the ground then slam my fist on the counter, causing the man to jump.

"Don't turn your back for too long, someone could take your money. They would be in and out without you being the wiser." I say with a smile.

He turns around with a more than surprised expression. His eyes light up, totally drowning out the dark soot on his face.

"Jorrvaskr!" He hurriedly runs around the counter and gives me a big hug. "Wow! What seks måneder5 will do to you. You look so much older; even got some hair on that chin!"

I pat his shoulder and take a step back. He smells so strongly of dirt it is revolting.

"Thank you. You as well look older. Is that gray hair?"

"Ha! You had better watch out, I'm still stronger." He laughs with a finger pointed. Then I jump slightly as I remember something. I hurriedly search through my bag and pull out a large wineskin and hand it to the man. "It's no mead6, but it is the best the midgets can offer."

He takes it with glee and shakes my hand.

"Thank you Jorrvaskr, I will enjoy it." I give him a slight nod before I grab my bag.

"I am sorry but I have family to visit. Goodbye friend." He waves just before the door closes.

My next and last stop is just before the hill. A small farm house with a pine roof. Chickens are in a pen right next to the sheep and goats, smoke billows out of the smoke hole. Two high pitched voices come from within the walls. I'm right in front of the door when it swings open and a young girl who isn't watching runs into me. She is waist high with blond hair and blue eyes. She takes a second to gather herself before she looks up and meets my eyes. Her face lights up, she immediately wraps her arms around my stomach.

"Jorrvaskr! Mamma, Jorrvaskr er hjemme7!"

Biorn runs around the corner and sandwiches Edith. Then Edgar comes and gives me the sweetest smile.

"Biorn, Edith get off of Jorrvaskr and let him in."

They do as they are told and let me in, the smell of gooseberry pie hitting me instantly. Inside is a small entryway that leads to a large room that serves as a living/cooking area. A large hearth8 stands in the middle with meat cooking over as well as a pie and bread. Beyond is a small hallway. I take my boots off in the doorway before proceeding, the hardwood feels great.

"We all missed you so much, Edith and Biorn has had no one to play with." says Edgar after she gives me a hug. She slowly proceeded to the hearth. I am about to speak before Biorn pulls on my pants. He speaks so fast I do not understand a word.

"Woah, slower slower you have time." Biorn takes a speedy breath.

"Jeg begynte å trene glima, Roric sa jeg var en naturlig9!" I get on one knee so I can look him in the eye.

"Oh really! Roric said you were that good? How do you like glima so far?"

"Jeg liker det, jeg vil vӕre så god som deg en dag10!"

"Ha! That won't be too hard Biorn, I knew you were going to be good." Then Edith jumps in.

"Jorrvaskr, har du tatt med noe igjen for oss11?"

"Edith!" Edgar gasps. "He just got home!"

"No, no it is ok." I reach into my bag and grab out two objects. "I did as a matter of fact."

I give both Edith and Biorn one of the objects. They stand speechless staring at the their gift, matching necklaces made of pure gold. I explain that the pendants on the chains are two halves of Thor's hammer that were specially crafted to fit together. They both put them on and say their thanks.

A door from the end of the hallway blows open with Eric following. Eric is tall with long yellow hair and green eyes, and even though I remember him to be scrawny, he seems to be getting a lot stronger. Ever since he was young he has been interested in books and art and less in battle. Even though he is only three years younger than I am, he has always seemed even younger because of his lack of muscle. Eric runs to me and wraps his arms around mine, barely giving me time to stand up.

"How was your trip Jorrvaskr? Please tell me, what have you seen? Is it true that the sand midgets really slag naken12?" Eric has always been one to ask questions, which has made him smart. I reach into my bag one more time. I hold out a large book with a thick leather cover.

"How about you read about it instead. This a detailed journal of the whole adventure, I hope this helps your writing." Eric beams with joy as he takes it.

"Thank you Jorrvaskr, this will help tremendously. But please, tell me just one story." I think for a second before saying.

"There was a people that from a young age wrap their head. They do this to make it a certain shape when they are older. Every family has a different head shape, it is a very humorous sight."

Everyone laughs as if I told a joke, Biorn and Edith especially like it. Until they are older they will not be able to leave the island, my stories are the only contact to the outside world.

"You can't be serious Jorrvaskr, stop joking." Eric says out of breath.

I am about to speak when the door bursts open, making me jump. I hear my name being screamed so I look over. Standing outside the door is Lima, she runs to me with open arms and squeals from excitement when we embrace. Lima is a very small woman compared to the other women of the village, coming up only slightly past my nipples. It is all too easy to pick her up and spin her around. Her hair smells of flowers and bread, just how I remembered it. I set her down and work to find words, an intimate kiss does the job just fine.

"I have missed you so much. When I heard you had arrived I raced over as quickly as I could."

A tear forms and starts downward, she really did miss me. I wipe away the moisture from her eye and run my hand through her yellow hair.

"There wasn't a day I didn't think of you. I love you so much, I hope you know that." She comes in for another hug and that is when Edith speaks up.

"Ew! Ekkel13!" She runs off into the hallway and into her room, we can't help but laugh.

"Lima." I start. She gets her head out of my chest and looks up. Her eyes are red from crying tears of joy.

"Yes?"

"I got something for you."

We let go and I search through my bag for my last gift. I bring out a metal jar, smaller than my palm.

"Inside is insense, one of the merchants got it from another to the east; who got it from another farther yet."

She thanks me before jumping into my arms again. Then there is a knocking on the door. Eric walks over and answers it. Outside is a man that stands tall and with authority.

"Jorrvaskr, the chief would like to see you."

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INDEX

Knorr: A large trading vessel

Njord: The norse god of the wind.

Tusen: Thousand

Longhouse: A building which the entirety of the village would live in in the winter

Seks Måneder: Six years

Mead: an alcoholic drink made from honey

Jorrvaskr er Hjemme: Jorrvaskr is home

Hearth: a large fire in the middle of a house used for cooking and heating the house

Jeg begynte å trene glima, Roric sa jeg var en naturlig: I started to train in glima (combat wrestling), Roric says I am a natural

Jeg liker det, jeg vil vӕre så god som deg en dag: I like it, I want to be as good as you someday

Jorrvaskr, har du tatt med noe igjen for oss: Jorrvaskr, did you get something for us

Slag naken: battle naked

Ekkel: gross

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1700s: Erelyn Laverna

From afar, a girl watches the stirring of her town as it awakens to resonating chimes that ascends with the rising sun.

Atop Nora, her caramel-coloured mare, the girl tells herself that she's here because of church, that there are others who flinch at the mention of it and stay away. But those others draw their shutters close and drift quietly among their homes; none risk the task of saddling their horse and riding off to unfrequented fields before day has even broken through the night. Of course, those others aren't likely the ones plagued by nightmares that awaken them in shaking fits, vision dotted with crimson, before the earliest birds have yet unfurled their wings; neither are they likely the ones with no memory of their nightmares but inexplicable flashes of blood and screams—but of course, Erelyn never tells herself this.

Nora's fur is soft under Erelyn's fingers, and she strokes it as she turns the horse from the sight of her waking town, easing her into a light gallop. "What if I remembered, Nora?"

Erelyn's whispered words hang on silence. She shuts her eyes and allows the darkness to envelop her vision, willing her thoughts to melt away just as easily, wanting to be free. And when her eyes open, she can be free in the birds' delightful songs, the crisp breeze rushing across her skin, and the vibrant colours of the sky and flowers and trees that whirl before her eyes... but true bliss is something to be envied and scavenged for in this world.

The voice—a youthful, masculine tone—meets her ears before the cantering of another horse's hooves and saddles registers, for here the grass is soft and the wind is gentle but engulfing. "Madam, I believe it should be within your knowledge that it's quite illegitimate for a young lady like yourself to be wandering about during church hours?"

Panic scrambles through Erelyn's mind, and she recoils ever so slightly before piecing together an unworried expression, pulling Nora's reins to face the boy behind her. There are markings of his clothes and well-bred horse that show a wealthy upbringing, yet a gleam in his eyes shimmers with youthful antics that are perhaps disapproved by the position of his parents. However, it's enough to ease a faint smile on Erelyn's lips—though they chance with the possibility of discovery and its unpleasant repercussions. The Church's reputation is wrecked, but she remains an afflicted girl, and the Devil never rests.

Erelyn's initial response lingers on her tongue, unspoken, for a feeling of unsettlement shifts within her. It's something in the boy's appearance, something that triggers a whisper of danger in her mind. Perhaps it's his odd golden-brown eyes, but they peer at her in amity; and so Erelyn answers his question with another. "Have we met before, sir?"

"I must admit I don't often venture into this town, particularly since..." He pauses for a second, and though his sentence remains unfinished, the unvoiced words linger on the wind. A rather apologetic look appears on his features. "Well, suffice it to say I would undoubtedly have remembered a pretty face like yours, should we have earlier met. Leif Hathorne, milady."

She hesitates—for that name is much too familiar, but what malice she associates with it dances just beyond her memory—before noncomplying words roll off her tongue. "Erelyn, sir."

"Pleasure to meet you, Erelyn," the boy replies, her lack of a last name hovering in recognition.

A shade of blush seeps into Erelyn's cheeks, for suddenly the boy's eyes begin to dig into her in a new way. Splatters of crimson flash mockingly through her head, a forewarning of the demons that awaited her beyond a wall she can never breach in wakefulness. And so the boy cannot be with her. ""I don't suppose your parents would fancy hearing you've been missing from church hours... surely you must have other business to attend to?"

Leif's mouth twitches in a grin. "Only if they can catch me, madam."

Erelyn exhales, combing her fingers through her hair in a habit that surfaces out of irritation. Perhaps he's proven himself to be charming, but that speaks little of him. It'll only hurt her more when he leaves; they all leave, eventually. But the boy watches her with curious eyes, and the part of her longs for freedom from the constant fear cries out. Fear—of unbidden screams and crimson blood, of obscured nightmares spattered with death. She fears, for all her demons remain shrouded by mist that takes everything and leaves nothing.

So she slides off her horse, the tentative smile spreading across her features. Leif smiles again as well, joining Erelyn on a bed of wildflowers, seemingly uncaring for his clothes stained by grains of dirt. For a while, the silence is comfortable and the time is sweet. Erelyn finds herself weaving necklaces of the colourful flowers, and Leif studies the fluffy clouds pushing across the vibrant blue sky. But her thoughts soon return to the unease stirred upon their initial greetings, the fear and faint recognition that had unveiled themselves at his name, his eyes...

Erelyn breaks the quiet. "Say, Leif, your name seems quite familiar to me, and I can't quite place why."

He turns his head, seemingly slightly startled that she had spoken. "Oh," Leif voices with a shade of hesitancy, "perhaps you're thinking of my uncle John Hathorne, whom I'm sure you have... heard of."

Erelyn's hands freeze over her wildflowers, rigid muscles stiffening her limbs.

Hathorne...

John Hathorne...

"Miss? Are you well?"

Ice races through her veins, smothering reality until it becomes wisps of nothing.

Invisible needles and knives penetrate her flesh, and the young girl shakes uncontrollably; limbs jerking, eyes wild, lungs choking for air. Erelyn seeks her mother, wholly oblivious to fearful eyes of the observers, determined gazes of the judges, and the apprehensive tension in the court. Her mother will help—her mother always stopped it. But now, when her mother's touch lands on her shoulder and the girl's fits soothe away, the two are immediately yanked apart. She watches her mother's hands, the ones that save her sanity, become tied together with a thick rope, and cries out in fright.

The gavel booms. If the touch of a suspected witch calms the fits of an afflicted victim, their innocence is banished, for this is the Devil's power.

"Erelyn!" Leif's voice cuts through Erelyn's mind, and numbness washes over her being.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she repeats, gazing downwards at her shaking fingers, the discarded flowers—words spoken in an attempt to convince herself too, though she is no longer sure of what. She feels her way up the anchor of reality, sanity, unwilling to search for what haunts her when she wanders alone. Then her eyes flutter upward and meet the pair of golden-brown eyes, and the anchor snaps; Erelyn plummets once more.

She stares into the eyes of the judge—John Hathorne—and sees only a merciless reflection in the dark brown, tinted by a golden edge that mirrors a set of irises she has just looked into. Then Erelyn finds herself outside, amidst a crowd where hands push her roughly away, futile attempts to shield her—from the string, bound into a noose; her mother, alive. One final glance of a vivid blueness, tying mother to daughter, bound with love, fear, and regret in a glance that would haunt the girl eternally.

I love you I love you I—

Reality breaks through. She finds Leif's eyes on hers once more, fear sparking in an otherwise concerned expression. Just like all the others. And his gaze morphs into a flash of hard brown eyes, into a haunted glimpse of desperate blue ones. But Erelyn no longer knows what these fragments of terror mean, what lays beyond the moments where her memory flutters with emptiness, only that she fears that one day the shattered pieces of this other world will come together, and she will be the one to break.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, casting one more futile glance in the boy's—Hathorne?—eyes as she flies to her horse and mounts it in a swift motion. His puzzled look brings forth a myriad of splintered memories in Erelyn's mind, once again transformed into two pairs of interchangeable eyes; brown and blue, hated and beloved, demon and phantom...

She brings Nora into a gallop, letting the wind tear away the wildflowers and the boy with brown eyes.

What if I remember?

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1770s: Paige Leroy

Paige stared outside.

Wisps of clouds were layered over the bright sun, drifting across the sky daintily. They floated lightly like feathers fluttering around in the open air, meandering in the wide sky. The trees outside her room rustled gently in the breeze, leaves twirling as they performed a dance. People lined the streets of Paris, and it was like the city was wide awake with exhilaration. Crowds hurried to get from place to place and conversation wandered throughout the sidewalks, voices and chatter melding together like colors splattered on a canvas. Paige gazed down at the vibrant scene, wanting nothing more than to join the barrage of life, yet she was stuck indoors.

Droplets of light streamed through her window, casting a golden glow throughout the room. Paige raised her arm, catching flecks of sunlight on the palm of her hand as if the sun itself would become part of her. Paige sighed, desperately wanting to be freed from her cage. Despite how big her room was, it still seemed stuffy to her. Four walls trapping her in, blocking her from the outside world. All she wanted was to gaze up at the endless sky, feeling the fresh air fill her lungs. She wanted to move and feel free, the wind caressing her hair, adrenaline pumping into her veins.

But Paige was currently stuck with a needle in one hand and a skirt in another, messily sewing together the seams of the garment as her mind wandered elsewhere. She caught her reflection in the mirror across the room, eyeing the girl she didn't recognize as herself. She was wearing a beautiful pink gown, the skirt wide and billowing out. Her hair was swept under gorgeous gray locks, matching pink ribbons laced within them. When Paige looked in the mirror, she saw her mother and father's daughter, a courteous and ladylike noble. She didn't see Paige, the girl with a heart brimful of adventure. She glanced around at the luxury that surrounded her, at what might make others ecstatic to own only a fortune of it, yet she couldn't feel the same joy. Not when it meant that all her life would lead up to was being an obedient wife, bossed around by her husband. Not when it meant that she could never live without her life being someone else's.

All of a sudden, the door to her room flew open without warning, and Paige, startled, dropped her needle.

"Paige!" Her father's voice boomed, echoing throughout her room.

"Y-yes, Father?" Paige stammered, hurrying to pick up her fallen needle from the ground.

"Why aren't you working?" Her father demanded, furrowing his brow as he watched her clumsily grasp for the floor.

"I was, I just—,"

Paige was cut off by her father. "I don't want any excuses." His voice was a deep growl, anger beginning to creep into his words.

"I..." Paige started, unsure of what to say. She stared up into her father's angry eyes, feeling chills crawl up her spine. "I'm sorry," she managed at last.

"You better be," her father shook his head in disapproval, his eyes like shards of glass as he glared at his daughter. "How do you expect to marry a noble if you carry on like this? You have to be the perfect wife."

But what if I don't want to be the perfect wife? Paige wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. She knew that that would only anger her father even further. "Now hurry," her father barked. "You better finish before 12:30. I have lunch with King Louis-Auguste then."

"Yes, of course." Paige nodded, forcing herself to smile, forcing herself to act like the ideal daughter, the one all of the other families coveted.

Her father, seemingly pleased with her response, finally slipped out of the room, letting the door slam loudly behind him as he left. Paige sighed once he was out of her room, her breath heavy with frustration. She truly wanted to be the daughter her parents made her out to be, but her heart wandered elsewhere. It wasn't in the manor, trapped in curtseys and frills, in feeling the need to be prim and proper. It was outside, in the unknown, where she could explore what had never been explored. It was where people actually lived life, not just the facade of living people thought was life.

But Paige knew that that life would never be hers. It was so close, within view, yet never within grasp.

Paige glanced out her window again, at the lively city that bustled, at the huge world of endless possibilities patiently waiting there. Outside, she could do anything. She could truly be herself, the "herself" that was trapped beneath layers of obedience and waiting to be released, a beautiful butterfly struggling to break free from its chrysalis. Inside, she was stuck being ladylike, fake smiles plastered on her face while deep down she resented every moment of it.

As she stared at the town, watching the tumult and excitement of it all, a want—no, a need—to escape the suffocating room and find her way into the center of all the pandemonium devoured her. She had to get outside, to run and dance and have her heart pumping Just looking at the whirlwind of life sent her heart beating faster, and it was as if the adventure that lay outdoors was a magnet, latching onto her and pulling her towards what she desired.

Once the thought of exploring the city, the city Paige had lived in her entire life yet the city she never had a chance to truly find herself in, was planted in her mind, it hung onto her until it was all she could think about. She couldn't concentrate on sewing when her mind was whirring with possibilities, with imagination of what she could do out there. Paige put down the needle and skirt and quietly slipped out of her room, making her way down the hallway and to the back door.

She opened the door, immediately sucking in a breath of fresh air as the breeze swirled inside. It was nice to be outside after being stuck indoors for so long, and Paige could feel the weight from her shoulders being lightened. She felt like she could soar through the clouds, her wings of adventure able to take her far away, to universes beyond anything she could imagine.

Paige was free.

She headed out towards the city streets, looking at the world that to everyone else seemed ordinary, but to her was one of the most wondrous things she's seen. The elite—women wearing elaborate dresses and hairdos and men with frivolous suits—traveled by carriage while the bourgeoisie milled around, roaming the dirt roads. People walked in and out of buildings—theaters, stores, bakeries. Merchants and civilians bartered and traded, money and goods transferring from hand to hand. A smell of freshly baked bread wafted into Paige's nose, and she inhaled deeply, feeling relieved from all of the pressure that had previously existed. The chatter and laughter flying, the clatter of horse hooves on the ground, was like music to Paige's ears. It was beauty in the most ordinary and mundane of places.

Glancing around, Paige saw a huge tree towering over the whole city in the distance. Immediately, an idea formulated in her mind, and a smile—a genuine one—spread across her face. She approached the tree, already glowing with anticipation. Step by step, she climbed up the trunk and branches, feeling the thump of her heartbeat conjoin with the pulse of the city. She felt invincible, alone in her own little bubble, without a single apprehension draped over her. She climbed higher and higher, feeling the thrill of it all surge in her veins. Her arms and legs began to grow sore, but Paige didn't care. She kept on going, feeling a sense of euphoria wash over her, glad to finally be released from the frontage Paige had to keep every day. She looked below her as the world slowly began the shrink, the noises gently fading into the distance. She had reached the very top.

Paige looked down at the city below her, feeling like she was on top of the world. Every minuscule thing down there didn't matter anymore; it was just her and her dreams. There wasn't a worry in her heart, any tension in her bones. The air was alive, and she was alive.

Finally, Paige felt at ease.

She felt like herself.

  ⟁⟁⟁ 

1770s: William Young

NO ENTRY RECEIVED.

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1780s: Martha Harrison

NO ENTRY RECEIVED. 

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