Kindred Spirits
The candle tipped over when she rolled over on her bed that night after
a few drinks and a fair amount of crying. I felt for her on these
nights. Of all the people who’ve lived in this house, and there have
been plenty, she has brought the most pain with her. I felt it the day
she moved in, and had to piece together bit by bit what had happened to
her.
She apparently bought the house with a sum of money left for her by her mother when she passed on. She had a fiancé when they began purchasing the home, but in helping to pack him up to move in with her in their new home, she found evidence of infidelity. I gathered that much pretty quickly, from the letters she wrote not long after she settled in. It wasn’t until she began speaking to her recently deceased mother, though, that I overheard the worst of it.
“I don’t know what to do, Mom. I’m almost relieved to have found out when I did. Better now before the marriage, I guess. I don’t regret leaving him, of course. But what am I supposed to do about the baby?”
The poor thing was with child. It should have been the happiest moment of her short human life, but given the circumstances…of course she was hurting. In ways she probably couldn’t understand herself, I’m sure. I’d watch her take just a little too long to put a knife away after washing dishes, or hover just a little too close to the upstairs bannister. I could see it because I had been there.
∞
My husband had been conscripted to the Volarian Army in March of 1863 NK, only two years after our marriage. We lived with my father on his farm outside of Adewald, his being a widower a matter that weighed deeply on us. We agreed to help tend the property so he wouldn't have to work the land alone. None of us were happy when the conscription notice came, but my husband, a passionate Volarian citizen, saw this as a chance to do something good, and went off without protest. He met a man there, Alexander, who he became fast friends with, if the letters were any indication. Alexander apparently had many years of experience in battle, and taught my husband how to mind himself.
Only two months later, however, we got notice that my husband had died on the
banks of the Pallax Canal on Auctus the 4th. I had known for 3 weeks now
that I would bear his child, and waited anxiously for his return to the
start of our young family. Instead I was alone. I would hover a little
too long over the bannister when I wasn't thinking. I would hold kitchen
knives like tickets to my escape. I wanted to give up. Rather, I had
already given up, I just needed to close the book on this tragedy.
Then came the raids. The Halsian general promised we citizens wouldn't endure the destruction and torment of his men, but that was a promise he couldn't keep. They began cutting the supply lines where they found them. They emptied our stores, tore through our warehouses, and then set eyes on our farms. Solis 2nd of that horrid year, they found the land my father and I were farming. My father locked me in a small, hidden store space below the kitchen floor, and went to meet the men with his sword. I begged him not to, but I think his pride combined with so much loss in his life was too much to ignore.
The next thing I heard were the Halsian soldiers coming into the house, laughing and ready to take anything they could find. They were surprisingly quick to find the small store room I was hidden in. They took everything I had left that night, my dignity and life included.
The next morning I found myself in my bedroom, however. I dared to hope that the whole affair was a product of my imagination. Yet one of the men walked into the room from my washroom, and though I should have been quite conspicuous, panicked and fumbling, he ignored me. Rather, it appeared he couldn't see me at all. A phantom in my own home, then. I spent most of the day trying to figure out how this worked, being a spectre, and listening to the men who had destroyed my family laughing about what they had done to me the night before. It wasn't until night that the weight of it all hit me. My husband, my father, and my unborn child. Myself, as well, I suppose, but feeling that loss was more than I could bear. I began to scream and wail, mourning what I seemingly couldn't while I lived. The intruders did something they hadn't done all day when I began to cry, though: they reacted.
So I mustered all the hurt and rage I knew and screamed at them.
"You, the intruders of sanctuary; you the defilers of sanctity; you, fell owners of your fellow man, blunder of your father's blood, heartbreak of your mother's grace, children of barbarism and dirt, demons of man's darkest instincts- you have tormented, ruined, raped, and murdered me. You will not take from me my place of rest. I offer you the clemency you refused me: retreat. Flee like rats from the light, or by dawn you will find your person the very expression of a wrath that spans both life and death. If there is anything in your wretched souls that still values life I advise you: run."
Of course, they followed my advice. I have never seen grown men move so fast before or since that night. It was some small solace, being able to terrify these soldiers. But after they'd left, I realized how alone I would be. It was quiet. Days slipped by, nights crept along, and it felt as though they would never end. I would occupy my time just watching. Watching the walls slowly fade under the light of an eternal sun. Watching the bloodstains fade Gulmen, God of Decay, took what used to be my body, nearly turning to dust. Watching the grass overtake the farm I'd help to sow. I watched the trees grow and fall. I once tried to leave the house, but found myself trapped. It is difficult to describe the pain it caused, as pain of the flesh and pain of the spirit are hardly alike, but I learned through excruciating experience that I would never leave the walls I perished in.
I don't know how long I endured this solitude before someone claimed the property and moved in. Even still, new family or not, all I could do is watch, it seemed. I watched the town of Adewald grow closer to my prison over time. I watched families come and go. I watched children grow into adulthood, elders ease into death, friends become lovers, lovers become enemies, and every imaginable sentient experience take place in those walls over the years. And then one day this new woman came.
She had taken to drinking when she couldn't handle the emotions anymore. She kept wine and spirits at the ready, in case her shadows found her unarmed, and tonight was another ambush. She broke down, crying once more, as I had so many years before. She lit candles, put on light robes, and tried to read, but all she could seem to accomplish was mourning. She washed her tears away in merlot from the shores of Perif until sleep came.
Then came the raids. The Halsian general promised we citizens wouldn't endure the destruction and torment of his men, but that was a promise he couldn't keep. They began cutting the supply lines where they found them. They emptied our stores, tore through our warehouses, and then set eyes on our farms. Solis 2nd of that horrid year, they found the land my father and I were farming. My father locked me in a small, hidden store space below the kitchen floor, and went to meet the men with his sword. I begged him not to, but I think his pride combined with so much loss in his life was too much to ignore.
The next thing I heard were the Halsian soldiers coming into the house, laughing and ready to take anything they could find. They were surprisingly quick to find the small store room I was hidden in. They took everything I had left that night, my dignity and life included.
The next morning I found myself in my bedroom, however. I dared to hope that the whole affair was a product of my imagination. Yet one of the men walked into the room from my washroom, and though I should have been quite conspicuous, panicked and fumbling, he ignored me. Rather, it appeared he couldn't see me at all. A phantom in my own home, then. I spent most of the day trying to figure out how this worked, being a spectre, and listening to the men who had destroyed my family laughing about what they had done to me the night before. It wasn't until night that the weight of it all hit me. My husband, my father, and my unborn child. Myself, as well, I suppose, but feeling that loss was more than I could bear. I began to scream and wail, mourning what I seemingly couldn't while I lived. The intruders did something they hadn't done all day when I began to cry, though: they reacted.
So I mustered all the hurt and rage I knew and screamed at them.
"You, the intruders of sanctuary; you the defilers of sanctity; you, fell owners of your fellow man, blunder of your father's blood, heartbreak of your mother's grace, children of barbarism and dirt, demons of man's darkest instincts- you have tormented, ruined, raped, and murdered me. You will not take from me my place of rest. I offer you the clemency you refused me: retreat. Flee like rats from the light, or by dawn you will find your person the very expression of a wrath that spans both life and death. If there is anything in your wretched souls that still values life I advise you: run."
Of course, they followed my advice. I have never seen grown men move so fast before or since that night. It was some small solace, being able to terrify these soldiers. But after they'd left, I realized how alone I would be. It was quiet. Days slipped by, nights crept along, and it felt as though they would never end. I would occupy my time just watching. Watching the walls slowly fade under the light of an eternal sun. Watching the bloodstains fade Gulmen, God of Decay, took what used to be my body, nearly turning to dust. Watching the grass overtake the farm I'd help to sow. I watched the trees grow and fall. I once tried to leave the house, but found myself trapped. It is difficult to describe the pain it caused, as pain of the flesh and pain of the spirit are hardly alike, but I learned through excruciating experience that I would never leave the walls I perished in.
I don't know how long I endured this solitude before someone claimed the property and moved in. Even still, new family or not, all I could do is watch, it seemed. I watched the town of Adewald grow closer to my prison over time. I watched families come and go. I watched children grow into adulthood, elders ease into death, friends become lovers, lovers become enemies, and every imaginable sentient experience take place in those walls over the years. And then one day this new woman came.
∞
She had taken to drinking when she couldn't handle the emotions anymore. She kept wine and spirits at the ready, in case her shadows found her unarmed, and tonight was another ambush. She broke down, crying once more, as I had so many years before. She lit candles, put on light robes, and tried to read, but all she could seem to accomplish was mourning. She washed her tears away in merlot from the shores of Perif until sleep came.
Inebriated, she still tossed and turned, until one of her candles fell,
and set fire to the drapes. I was helpless but to watch, I figured.
Until I remembered the soldiers. I mustered everything in me to will
myself to be visible to her. All I wanted was to show myself to her, to
help her. Slowly she turned, opened her eyes, and was alarmed not by the
growing flame, but by the spirit knelt beside her.
"You, the inheritor of sanctuary; you, the rebuilder of sanctity; you, victim of your fellow man, treasure of your father's blood, testament to your mother's grace, child of elegance and air, angel of man's purest instincts- you have been tormented, ruined, wronged, and abandoned. You will not join me in my place of rest. I offer you the clemency you have so often been refused: retreat. Flee like doves to the light, or by dawn you will find your person the very expression of a waste that spans both life and death. If there is anything in your precious soul that still values life, I beg you to run."
She escaped, and lived on, I think. But then came the pain. The same pain as when I tried to leave the house so long ago. It dawned on me that this is how it felt to slowly cease existing. I realized that I was merely an echo of my former self, and without the walls to bounce my essence from, I would simply fade. The blaze transformed wood and soul into effervescent absence. The last thing I felt as I faded one final time was torn; I was free of a prison I had resigned myself to an eternity in, on the one hand. This was another death, though, and one I didn't know could come, and one that came at the cost of a home my father built with his own two hands. The home where I died. The home where my child died. My father. The last place I felt my husband's embrace. This home perished with me.
I had hoped, usually, that my mother's God, the Quiet God Nîdel, would come for me, one day. I had always been a servant of the Her; learning to read the scriptures and sing the hymns and everything else expected of me. I watched this young woman on the lawn through the flames, crying on the wet grass as the town guard began to appear, and in my final seconds, I felt no cosmic warmth, no celestial calling. I felt nothing but relief that she, at least, wouldn't be coming with me.
"You, the inheritor of sanctuary; you, the rebuilder of sanctity; you, victim of your fellow man, treasure of your father's blood, testament to your mother's grace, child of elegance and air, angel of man's purest instincts- you have been tormented, ruined, wronged, and abandoned. You will not join me in my place of rest. I offer you the clemency you have so often been refused: retreat. Flee like doves to the light, or by dawn you will find your person the very expression of a waste that spans both life and death. If there is anything in your precious soul that still values life, I beg you to run."
She escaped, and lived on, I think. But then came the pain. The same pain as when I tried to leave the house so long ago. It dawned on me that this is how it felt to slowly cease existing. I realized that I was merely an echo of my former self, and without the walls to bounce my essence from, I would simply fade. The blaze transformed wood and soul into effervescent absence. The last thing I felt as I faded one final time was torn; I was free of a prison I had resigned myself to an eternity in, on the one hand. This was another death, though, and one I didn't know could come, and one that came at the cost of a home my father built with his own two hands. The home where I died. The home where my child died. My father. The last place I felt my husband's embrace. This home perished with me.
I had hoped, usually, that my mother's God, the Quiet God Nîdel, would come for me, one day. I had always been a servant of the Her; learning to read the scriptures and sing the hymns and everything else expected of me. I watched this young woman on the lawn through the flames, crying on the wet grass as the town guard began to appear, and in my final seconds, I felt no cosmic warmth, no celestial calling. I felt nothing but relief that she, at least, wouldn't be coming with me.
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