3
Wynn sat on the corner of her bed. Her hair hung lankly around her face and her skin was covered in a sheet of sweat. She pressed a cloth to her cheek desperately, her hands shaking. Beside her the new maid sat, taking the cloth once it had soaked through with blood and replacing it with a fresh one. This happened often and the new maid – who had insisted on aiding her – washed each one in a bucket beside her, laying them out to dry. Wynn stared at the wall unblinkingly, lost in a world of pain and nausea, her cheek stung so much that tears constantly fell down her face and it was a will not to weep. In all of her life she had never felt such pain, raw, deep and unmanageable. She did not know what to do with herself, whether to lie down, to keep moving or just curl up in a ball and succumb to the agony. Next to her the girl eased the blood soaked cloth from her grip and handed her a fresh one. Wynn took it automatically, feeling nothing but the searing pain on her cheek. No sadness, no anger, nothing but blinding pain.
Wynn had not had the will to send the girl away. To move her face an inch hurt beyond comprehension and she had not the energy to speak and so beg the girl to leave. It was private this injury, this pain, and Wynn longed to deal with it alone, to be able to cry and curse her life and maybe sink into the darkness that lingered on the edge of her vision. The new maid prevented any of that, with her here Wynn could not give up. Wynn did not remember how she got to her room, which meant the girl had taken her here, another reason she could not just send her away. The moment Wynn had stepped out of the Master’s room her vision had blurred and her body had crumpled to the floor. She could recall nothing after that but waking up in her room, a cloth pressed firmly to her cheek.
She did not know how long her wound had bled for, and from a knowledge gained from years of scrapes, falls and beatings, knew that a wound this deep would take a large amount of time to heal; but she also knew that unless she stopped bleeding she would die. It did not terrify her, the thoughts of death. There was nothing to fear when living was such agony. Wynn realised she had loosened her grasp on the cloth and pressed it harder to her ruined cheek, feeling the blood dribble down her cheek, down her neck and onto her clothes. She had not changed out of her uniform and they were soaked in blood, fresh and old. She knew she looked a macabre sight and wished she had the energy to change but knew any unnecessary movements would not help her failing health.
It was dark outside; the Master had long since retired for the evening, his mysterious friend leaving out the back entrance. The moonlight shone through the window and the branches that scratched the window cast frightening shadows on the door. The room was lit by a candle on the floor and Wynn found herself staring at it again, thinking nothing and feeling nothing, watching the flame dance to an unknown and unheard tune.
It was then that her hand trembled and she realised the sopping material of the cloth was proving too heavy to continue holding. Beside her she could feel the maid’s worry for her. Wynn blearily handed the cloth to her and turned her eyes to her. The numbness that had overtaken her since she had woken up was leaving and the world was suddenly sharp and red tinged. Wynn could not understand this extra sense, this curse, for it was indescribably a curse. She was beginning to feel again and with this feeling her head suddenly throbbed and her stomach lurched. Wynn could feel the maid's worry as though it was inside her, as if
she
worried, but it was not overpowering this sensing. It was insistent and present but Wynn could feel for herself, could think her own thoughts, the only difference now was that she could sense the maid's as well.
“
She looks so pale
,” the girl thought, her eyes cast down at the bowl of bloodied water.
Wynn gulped and brushed the hair from her face. The girl had not spoken, her lips had not moved and yet Wynn had heard her. This extra feeling mingled in with her own suffering, heightening it and forcing her to face it head on. At first, in those few desperate and confusing minutes she had tried to simply to ignore it, to shut off the part of her brain that caused this frightening heightened perception. When that proved futile she had wondered if she was actually asleep, dreaming, or hallucinating and what was happening was not true. Yet the pain in her cheek was proof enough that everything was very much real.
How could this be happening? A sense that by all accounts she should not have, it was not natural to hear another's thoughts or to know how they are feeling. Wynn felt like she was drowning and cast her eyes around the room, noting everything had become blurry. It was too much... too much. Wynn fell back onto the bed and everything went black.
As the light filled the room Elina crawled to her baby and whispered with her final breath, “
I
grant you this gift, this necklace you wear shall protect you until you inherit your magic. Never forget who you are my darling daughter.” Elina collapsed to the floor, her heart stuttering to a stop as the room became pitch black and silence crept over the cottage. Aerona shook as she rose and walked towards Wynn, her bony hand reaching out to grab her, but light flared around the cot and Aerona was repelled. As the light faded and darkness closed Aerona’s eyes flared blood red in anger. She sent her magic at the cot, intent to destroy the barrier that protected the baby, but the light flared once more and Aerona knew it was futile. With a flick of her cloak she turned on her heel and strode from the cottage...
Wynn felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. She kept her eyes closed, trying to shake the horror of her dream. It always ended the same way, it should have made it easier to cope with, surely now after seventeen summers she would realise her life was not truly in danger. Yet every morning was the same, except now there was someone in her room, touching her. For the briefest moment she thought Aerona had reached out from her dream but the touch was soft and as Wynn woke further she realised where she was. Inside her mind a vision of colours swam in front of her eyes, the back of her eyelids as the background, she watched the colours distractedly; hoping this time what she saw really was an illusion, brought about by stress. The pain from her cheek was returning, a blinding ache that went right down to her bones. She tried to speak but her mouth felt dry as though she had eaten sand. The hand shook her again and she mumbled in response, wishing to be left alone.
“You’re in bed,” the owner of the hand said softly. Wynn frowned but couldn’t recognise the voice. She felt a cold cup against her lips and she opened them warily, feeling cool water pour down her throat. It soothed her dry mouth and aching throat and she felt marginally better. She lay in silence and stillness until she felt strong enough to raise her hand gingerly to her face. The skin on her cheek had been sown together. Her fingers softly ran over the bumps of thread, and felt no blood. The bleeding had finally stopped. As her mind became clearer she began to once again sense the emotions of the person beside her. From what Wynn could gather the person was female, her urges and emotions were
indubitably
leaning towards the maternal; and she was unquestionably concerned for Wynn’s wellbeing.
Wynn rubbed her eyes and slowly opened them, watching as a figure became clear before her, a young girl, with long blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. The sun shone brilliantly through the window above her, illuminating her and bathing her in golden light.
“I’m Braelyn,” the girl said, taking the cup away, “I’ve been looking after you, you fainted last night.”
Wynn nodded slowly as she remembered what had happened, it came back to her, flickering before her eyes. The Master’s room, the darkness, the knife glinting in the candle light, the new maid, the strange man that unwittingly saved her by entering the room and the new maid nursing her.
“He branded me,” Wynn whispered, as quiet as breathing, more to herself than to Braelyn. The realisation of it made her stomach churn, the injustice of it all, he had permanently marked her, in a place that was impossible to hide. Wynn cared not that she did not know the maid; she had the overwhelming urge to talk about everything, to be told she was right to feel the way she did. She felt a great anger, but an even greater uncertainty. What the Master had done was wrong she was sure, but he owned her as much as he owned the horses in the stable. Was she right to feel so bitter? She felt confused as her own senses told her what had happened to her was wrong, but her years of being taught to believe she was nothing combated her anger.
Braelyn squeezed Wynn’s shoulder gently, breaking Wynn’s train of thought, to show she understood, but Wynn was numb to the touch. The world felt suddenly colder than it had ever before, and she felt herself fall deeper into darkness. She had hoped, one day, she would find someone to love her. Not the way the men did when they visited the Master, but in a mutual, caring, respectful relationship. Someone who would take her from her sadness and show her what it meant to be happy. But not now. Now she was scarred. I understand now why the other maid’s despised me so, Wynn thought sadly, they were marked, and I was not. Now I have become one of them, but with the worst of scars. They can hide theirs with a scarf but mine is plain for all to see.
Braelyn handed her the cup and Wynn took it unthinkingly, swirling the contents around despondently. Now she was coherent enough to think her mood became ever darker. The night before she was devoid of anything save the pain, numb to the world, but today she was awake and burned with rage. She had known this day was coming, her time to be marked was overdue, but not like this. Not in such a way that puckered her face and made her completely unrecognisable, she wondered idly how she looked but cast the thought away. She could not take the sight, not yet. They sat in silence, or so it was for Braelyn, to Wynn her head was buzzing with her thoughts, and Braelyn's emotions. Wynn gritted her teeth and gripped the glass tightly.
“
I wonder if I should say something
,” the girl thought suddenly and Wynn's eyes unconsciously flickered to her face. Braelyn looked startled and Wynn realised she had acted upon a thought, not something said aloud. She would have to be careful, such behaviour was suspicious and people were sent to The Rune for much less. “
She looks so sad, I wish I knew her more so I could say something to make her feel better
,” the girl continued on in her head.
Wynn glanced down. This Braelyn was a good person, as good as Cook and Wynn wondered how they could have stayed so moral, so hopeful, in such a world as this one. Times were hard and people were cruel. She glanced back up at Braelyn, her long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was undeniably beautiful and kind and Wynn for a moment wondered if she had died and Braelyn was an angel sent to collect her soul; but Wynn did not believe in such things, no angel could bear to walk on such a sad world.
As Wynn pondered a thought entered her conscious that was not hers or Braelyn's, “
I hope she is awake, I curse the Master over and over
...” the thought trailed off becoming nothing but wordless anger and Wynn knew instantly who it was. Cook was walking down the stairs that joint her room to the kitchen. Wynn glanced up at the door and Braelyn followed her gaze, a moment later there was a knock at the door and Cook walked into the room. She seemed to take up all of the space; she had a presence that demanded attention, but despite the loudness of Cook's person Wynn did not miss the look of confusion Braelyn shot at her that she had known the door was to knock. Wynn swallowed nervously.
Cook, oblivious to Wynn's worry, ushered Braelyn away and sat next to Wynn. Instantly Wynn could feel a flood of love emanate from Cook, as well as all of Cook’s hopes, desires, fears and emotions. It was overwhelming and Wynn closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. She had loved Cook all her life but it was too personal, almost wrong to see so much of a person. For the first time since she had discovered this curse she began to feel guilty. It was one thing hearing and feeling others who Wynn did not know or respect, but it felt like an intrusion, like spying when the focus was passed onto Cook.
“How are you feeling?” Cook whispered. Wynn frowned and her lip suddenly shook with the effort of controlling her emotions and thinking coherently. She was overwhelmed with her own despair and pain, as well as Cook and Braelyn’s foreign emotions that tasted strange on her tongue and imprinted on her soul. How to explain when none could understand? Wynn wished abruptly they would go and leave her alone. She did not want their sympathy. Wynn took a shuddering breath and shrugged in reply to Cook’s question, her eyes downcast. Cook grabbed her hand and Wynn looked towards her.
“What that man did to you is awful. We knew your time would come to be marked, but not – not like this,” Cook whispered, squeezing her hand, “but you are still beautiful Wynn, you must believe me.”
Wynn scoffed and lifted the cup to her mouth to avoid any more conversation, her hand shaking violently. She knew if she met Cook’s eyes she would fall apart. Her resolve was shaky as it was and her breath came slowly, a great effort, as though she had forgotten how. She knew that Cook was sincere, and knew Braelyn agreed reverently, but how could she believe them when she wore such an ugly scar? Wynn glanced up, careful to avoid looking directly at anyone, and saw that the long scarf Cook usually wore around her neck had fallen down and that her scar was on show. A brilliant circle carved into her throat. She felt a new lease of pain for the hurt that the Master had caused Cook, her mother in every sense.
Beside Wynn Cook closed her eyes in despair, Wynn had always been a survivor and now she was ready to give up. The world Cook had known before That Night had completely disappeared. Life was hard, and many died before their time, their bodies working but their spirits broken. She, like many of the inhabitants of Inlo, dreamt of salvation in a far off land, not affected by Lord Oprend’s cruel reign. But only the noble or the army could pass The Wall which ran around the whole of Inlo. Such fantasies were kept inside, to speak would make them solid, desirable, and she knew they were unachievable.
Wynn closed her eyes, sensing Cook’s thoughts which mirrored her own, which had always mirrored her own. She was not the only one who wished for freedom and it broke her heart that others suffered the same sadness she felt every day. Finally her tears spilt down her face, her pain mixed with Cook and Braelyn’s. She cried like she would not stop and Cook and Braelyn comforted her, but something in Wynn had changed. Something had broken.