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Callidora’s face visibly changed as she perused the contents of the letter in her hand, dropping into the nearest chair as her expression fell. “No wonder,” she whispered, slim fingers raising to her lips. “Gods, that poor girl…”
Noticing her distress, her husband settled at her side with a concerned frown. “What is it, love?” Demetrius asked, chafing her free hand and searching her gaze. “What’s the matter?”
Looking up from the letter into the searching eyes of her husband, Dora shook her head and handed over the piece of parchment. It didn’t take long before the merchant’s expression matched his wife’s, face grim as he set the note down on the table. “I guess that explains why Tymon didn’t show for our meeting at the beginning of the week,” he said, running his hand over his close-cropped beard in a gesture that betrayed his unease. “To lose a wife and a child at once, poor man…”
“And poor Myrrine,” Callidora added, shaking her head. “The girl is far too young to have to step into her own now. Can you imagine?” Sighing, she squeezed her husband’s hand. She sure couldn’t. The younger of two children, Dora never had much responsibility growing up, and her parents had always made sure she and her brother were well cared-for. To have to step into such a role at such a young age… “We should go over there,” she suggested to Demetrius. “Offer our love, perhaps some food. I’m sure they could use it.”
“Good idea,” Demetrius replied, gently clapping her knee before standing up. “Let’s see what we can scrounge together.”
-----
Equipped with two baskets full of fruit, bread, and cheese, Callidora and Demetrius stood at their friends’ door and steeled themselves for what they might find within. Losing a family member was never easy, especially with so many mouths that needed feeding. Tymon was a savvy businessman, but without Dysis, how was he to keep the house and his store running? With the help of a girl of thirteen, Dora thought sadly as Demetrius raised his hand to knock, that sadness reflecting in her gaze as she met her husband’s eyes. Gods preserve them all.
Admitted to the house, Demetrius greeted Tymon with muted condolences, clapping him on the back as he handed over the basket he carried. Callidora offered similar gestures to her husband’s friend, one hand gently patting his cheek as she expressed just how sorry she was to hear of his loss. But, as much regard as she held for Tymon, he was not the one she was here to see. She needed to check on Myrrine.
Leaving her basket on the table after yanking a couple peaches from it, she walked further inside the house in search of the girl she’d taken under her wing just a couple years before. Kind, intelligent, and a quick learner, she had no doubt Myrrine would rise to the task ahead of her, but she meant to be there for the girl in any way she could. With no daughters, nieces, or sisters of her own, Callidora held a certain fondness for the young teen that surpassed the ties of business or even friendship. She had a feeling the girl needed help now more than she had ever had before.
Finally spotting her amongst the throng of her younger siblings, Dora waited for Myrrine to notice her before she offered the girl a small smile and held out one of the peaches. “I came as soon as I got your letter,” she murmured, sympathy coloring her verdant gaze. “Oh, Myrrine, I’m so sorry.”
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Callidora’s face visibly changed as she perused the contents of the letter in her hand, dropping into the nearest chair as her expression fell. “No wonder,” she whispered, slim fingers raising to her lips. “Gods, that poor girl…”
Noticing her distress, her husband settled at her side with a concerned frown. “What is it, love?” Demetrius asked, chafing her free hand and searching her gaze. “What’s the matter?”
Looking up from the letter into the searching eyes of her husband, Dora shook her head and handed over the piece of parchment. It didn’t take long before the merchant’s expression matched his wife’s, face grim as he set the note down on the table. “I guess that explains why Tymon didn’t show for our meeting at the beginning of the week,” he said, running his hand over his close-cropped beard in a gesture that betrayed his unease. “To lose a wife and a child at once, poor man…”
“And poor Myrrine,” Callidora added, shaking her head. “The girl is far too young to have to step into her own now. Can you imagine?” Sighing, she squeezed her husband’s hand. She sure couldn’t. The younger of two children, Dora never had much responsibility growing up, and her parents had always made sure she and her brother were well cared-for. To have to step into such a role at such a young age… “We should go over there,” she suggested to Demetrius. “Offer our love, perhaps some food. I’m sure they could use it.”
“Good idea,” Demetrius replied, gently clapping her knee before standing up. “Let’s see what we can scrounge together.”
-----
Equipped with two baskets full of fruit, bread, and cheese, Callidora and Demetrius stood at their friends’ door and steeled themselves for what they might find within. Losing a family member was never easy, especially with so many mouths that needed feeding. Tymon was a savvy businessman, but without Dysis, how was he to keep the house and his store running? With the help of a girl of thirteen, Dora thought sadly as Demetrius raised his hand to knock, that sadness reflecting in her gaze as she met her husband’s eyes. Gods preserve them all.
Admitted to the house, Demetrius greeted Tymon with muted condolences, clapping him on the back as he handed over the basket he carried. Callidora offered similar gestures to her husband’s friend, one hand gently patting his cheek as she expressed just how sorry she was to hear of his loss. But, as much regard as she held for Tymon, he was not the one she was here to see. She needed to check on Myrrine.
Leaving her basket on the table after yanking a couple peaches from it, she walked further inside the house in search of the girl she’d taken under her wing just a couple years before. Kind, intelligent, and a quick learner, she had no doubt Myrrine would rise to the task ahead of her, but she meant to be there for the girl in any way she could. With no daughters, nieces, or sisters of her own, Callidora held a certain fondness for the young teen that surpassed the ties of business or even friendship. She had a feeling the girl needed help now more than she had ever had before.
Finally spotting her amongst the throng of her younger siblings, Dora waited for Myrrine to notice her before she offered the girl a small smile and held out one of the peaches. “I came as soon as I got your letter,” she murmured, sympathy coloring her verdant gaze. “Oh, Myrrine, I’m so sorry.”
Callidora’s face visibly changed as she perused the contents of the letter in her hand, dropping into the nearest chair as her expression fell. “No wonder,” she whispered, slim fingers raising to her lips. “Gods, that poor girl…”
Noticing her distress, her husband settled at her side with a concerned frown. “What is it, love?” Demetrius asked, chafing her free hand and searching her gaze. “What’s the matter?”
Looking up from the letter into the searching eyes of her husband, Dora shook her head and handed over the piece of parchment. It didn’t take long before the merchant’s expression matched his wife’s, face grim as he set the note down on the table. “I guess that explains why Tymon didn’t show for our meeting at the beginning of the week,” he said, running his hand over his close-cropped beard in a gesture that betrayed his unease. “To lose a wife and a child at once, poor man…”
“And poor Myrrine,” Callidora added, shaking her head. “The girl is far too young to have to step into her own now. Can you imagine?” Sighing, she squeezed her husband’s hand. She sure couldn’t. The younger of two children, Dora never had much responsibility growing up, and her parents had always made sure she and her brother were well cared-for. To have to step into such a role at such a young age… “We should go over there,” she suggested to Demetrius. “Offer our love, perhaps some food. I’m sure they could use it.”
“Good idea,” Demetrius replied, gently clapping her knee before standing up. “Let’s see what we can scrounge together.”
-----
Equipped with two baskets full of fruit, bread, and cheese, Callidora and Demetrius stood at their friends’ door and steeled themselves for what they might find within. Losing a family member was never easy, especially with so many mouths that needed feeding. Tymon was a savvy businessman, but without Dysis, how was he to keep the house and his store running? With the help of a girl of thirteen, Dora thought sadly as Demetrius raised his hand to knock, that sadness reflecting in her gaze as she met her husband’s eyes. Gods preserve them all.
Admitted to the house, Demetrius greeted Tymon with muted condolences, clapping him on the back as he handed over the basket he carried. Callidora offered similar gestures to her husband’s friend, one hand gently patting his cheek as she expressed just how sorry she was to hear of his loss. But, as much regard as she held for Tymon, he was not the one she was here to see. She needed to check on Myrrine.
Leaving her basket on the table after yanking a couple peaches from it, she walked further inside the house in search of the girl she’d taken under her wing just a couple years before. Kind, intelligent, and a quick learner, she had no doubt Myrrine would rise to the task ahead of her, but she meant to be there for the girl in any way she could. With no daughters, nieces, or sisters of her own, Callidora held a certain fondness for the young teen that surpassed the ties of business or even friendship. She had a feeling the girl needed help now more than she had ever had before.
Finally spotting her amongst the throng of her younger siblings, Dora waited for Myrrine to notice her before she offered the girl a small smile and held out one of the peaches. “I came as soon as I got your letter,” she murmured, sympathy coloring her verdant gaze. “Oh, Myrrine, I’m so sorry.”
Everything had happened so quickly.
As she sat surrounded by her siblings, baby in her arms, she couldn’t even fathom how much time had passed. Had it been a week ago or only yesterday? The time that had passed since was a blur. She remembered that night vividly - she would never be able to forget a single detail for as long as she lived.
After all, as a young woman of thirteen, she had been in the room, assisting the midwife. It had been an overwhelming experience from the start. She couldn’t imagine how her mother had already gone through that five times before. It seemed so painful. When the baby came, the relief was tangible. Yet her mother’s labor did not end.
There was a second child.
She hadn’t fully understood what went wrong - only that the baby was in the wrong position and it was hurting both mother and child. It went on for hours. Just endless hours of screaming and panic, trying to coax the child to right itself, trying to ease her mother’s suffering, watching their lives slip away.
By the time the second babe - a boy - was born, her mother was already fading. Myrrine didn’t know much of childbirth, but she was fairly certain that he shouldn’t have looked so blue. That he should have cried. That her mother should have had the strength to ask why he was so silent. Or to hold the first child.
Somewhere between that moment and when the midwife told the rest of the family what had happened, Myrrine had gone numb from the horror and sorrow of it all. All she knew was that she clung to the girl child, knowing that there was no one else to care for her.
Her father had disconnected from the world the instant he heard. She couldn’t even get him to look at his newborn daughter, let alone hold her. He had disappeared into his room and not emerged for... it seemed like weeks. That couldn’t be right though.
Time had ceased to exist for her though. She hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes sleep at a time it seemed. If it wasn’t the baby waking her, it was one of the other children. Her younger siblings were only eight, six and five after all. They still needed tended to. Farris tried to help where he could, but he was handling so much himself. He was the only one who seemed to get through to their father.
The last time she had tried, he had called her by her mother’s name.
Really, she should have seen it coming. She had heard all her life how much she looked like her mother. Even more so as she got older. How could she have not thought that her father’s grief would fixate on that fact? So she left it to Farris to coax him to eat and keep things going. They were well off enough, but not so much so that their father’s work could simply cease for days on end. Not with such a large family as theirs. Farris had already been apprenticing. He could handle it well enough.
They could only hope their father would be able to see the light through his grief someday soon.
There had been so many tears over these past days, Myrrine had lost track. Thyra understood that their mother was gone, but she lashed out constantly. Clio and Leila were just confused, asking when she’d come back. Farris did he best to stay stoic, but she had caught him hiding his own tears. Yet she hadn’t shed any. Not one.
The baby seemed to do nothing but cry. Goat’s milk wasn’t enough, yet it was all that she could offer the newborn. Even when she was full and clean, still she could not sleep. It was as though she sensed how wrong the world was to have robbed her of her mother and brother - the only two constants she’d had in the womb. Now suddenly she was in this harsh world without anything familiar. Myrrine was a poor substitute of a mother, she knew that. Gods knew that she knew that. Yet she was all this sweet little girl would ever have.
All she had was exhaustion. She had no concept of the layers of filth that covered her and stained her clothes, of the way that her braid had half come loose to hang freely in a disheveled manner. She could barely keep her eyes open, her voice was hoarse, her ears rang from the ceaseless crying. There was a pain in her stomach that she didn’t know the cause of - had she forgotten to eat or was it simply guilt eating away at her? Her arms ached from holding the baby who seemed to start screaming every time she tried to put her down.
She was numb - too numb to even realize how badly she was drowning in it all.
Enough so to not even realize guests had arrived. She didn’t hear them at all, nor did she hear her father stir. Farris was at the storefront. Or getting supplies? He was... somewhere. Clio and Leila played together, their troubles as temporary as their understanding of the situation and forgotten for the moment. Thyra had exhausted herself in her last temper tantrum, falling asleep on a cushion on the floor.
Myrrine simply stared straight ahead in a trance, absently rocking the baby who had at last gone quiet.
When would this end? It would never end. There was no relief for her. Not anymore.
It wasn’t until an unfamiliar woman stepped into her glassy gaze that she was able to force her vision to focus. For a long moment she simply stared, trying to place the woman before the memory finally returned to her.
“Dora,” she croaked. Truth be told, she couldn’t even remember writing the letter. It was lost in a haze of feedings and crying and weariness that somehow went deeper than the bone. Just lifting her free hand to accept the offered peach seemed a colossal effort.
“I... how long has it been? I don’t...” She shook her head, trying to piece the facts together and coming up blank. With a sigh she gave up the attempt. “Thank you, for coming.” She swallowed hard, looking down at the sweet face of the finally peaceful child.
“You can meet the newest member of our family,” she offered, a half-hearted smile tugging at her lips, before quickly fading. “I... I haven’t been able to bring myself to name her yet,” she confessed, her voice a barely audible whisper. Doing so would make it real - that her mother wasn’t here to do it herself and her father couldn’t bring himself to care.
“It’s not fair.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Everything had happened so quickly.
As she sat surrounded by her siblings, baby in her arms, she couldn’t even fathom how much time had passed. Had it been a week ago or only yesterday? The time that had passed since was a blur. She remembered that night vividly - she would never be able to forget a single detail for as long as she lived.
After all, as a young woman of thirteen, she had been in the room, assisting the midwife. It had been an overwhelming experience from the start. She couldn’t imagine how her mother had already gone through that five times before. It seemed so painful. When the baby came, the relief was tangible. Yet her mother’s labor did not end.
There was a second child.
She hadn’t fully understood what went wrong - only that the baby was in the wrong position and it was hurting both mother and child. It went on for hours. Just endless hours of screaming and panic, trying to coax the child to right itself, trying to ease her mother’s suffering, watching their lives slip away.
By the time the second babe - a boy - was born, her mother was already fading. Myrrine didn’t know much of childbirth, but she was fairly certain that he shouldn’t have looked so blue. That he should have cried. That her mother should have had the strength to ask why he was so silent. Or to hold the first child.
Somewhere between that moment and when the midwife told the rest of the family what had happened, Myrrine had gone numb from the horror and sorrow of it all. All she knew was that she clung to the girl child, knowing that there was no one else to care for her.
Her father had disconnected from the world the instant he heard. She couldn’t even get him to look at his newborn daughter, let alone hold her. He had disappeared into his room and not emerged for... it seemed like weeks. That couldn’t be right though.
Time had ceased to exist for her though. She hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes sleep at a time it seemed. If it wasn’t the baby waking her, it was one of the other children. Her younger siblings were only eight, six and five after all. They still needed tended to. Farris tried to help where he could, but he was handling so much himself. He was the only one who seemed to get through to their father.
The last time she had tried, he had called her by her mother’s name.
Really, she should have seen it coming. She had heard all her life how much she looked like her mother. Even more so as she got older. How could she have not thought that her father’s grief would fixate on that fact? So she left it to Farris to coax him to eat and keep things going. They were well off enough, but not so much so that their father’s work could simply cease for days on end. Not with such a large family as theirs. Farris had already been apprenticing. He could handle it well enough.
They could only hope their father would be able to see the light through his grief someday soon.
There had been so many tears over these past days, Myrrine had lost track. Thyra understood that their mother was gone, but she lashed out constantly. Clio and Leila were just confused, asking when she’d come back. Farris did he best to stay stoic, but she had caught him hiding his own tears. Yet she hadn’t shed any. Not one.
The baby seemed to do nothing but cry. Goat’s milk wasn’t enough, yet it was all that she could offer the newborn. Even when she was full and clean, still she could not sleep. It was as though she sensed how wrong the world was to have robbed her of her mother and brother - the only two constants she’d had in the womb. Now suddenly she was in this harsh world without anything familiar. Myrrine was a poor substitute of a mother, she knew that. Gods knew that she knew that. Yet she was all this sweet little girl would ever have.
All she had was exhaustion. She had no concept of the layers of filth that covered her and stained her clothes, of the way that her braid had half come loose to hang freely in a disheveled manner. She could barely keep her eyes open, her voice was hoarse, her ears rang from the ceaseless crying. There was a pain in her stomach that she didn’t know the cause of - had she forgotten to eat or was it simply guilt eating away at her? Her arms ached from holding the baby who seemed to start screaming every time she tried to put her down.
She was numb - too numb to even realize how badly she was drowning in it all.
Enough so to not even realize guests had arrived. She didn’t hear them at all, nor did she hear her father stir. Farris was at the storefront. Or getting supplies? He was... somewhere. Clio and Leila played together, their troubles as temporary as their understanding of the situation and forgotten for the moment. Thyra had exhausted herself in her last temper tantrum, falling asleep on a cushion on the floor.
Myrrine simply stared straight ahead in a trance, absently rocking the baby who had at last gone quiet.
When would this end? It would never end. There was no relief for her. Not anymore.
It wasn’t until an unfamiliar woman stepped into her glassy gaze that she was able to force her vision to focus. For a long moment she simply stared, trying to place the woman before the memory finally returned to her.
“Dora,” she croaked. Truth be told, she couldn’t even remember writing the letter. It was lost in a haze of feedings and crying and weariness that somehow went deeper than the bone. Just lifting her free hand to accept the offered peach seemed a colossal effort.
“I... how long has it been? I don’t...” She shook her head, trying to piece the facts together and coming up blank. With a sigh she gave up the attempt. “Thank you, for coming.” She swallowed hard, looking down at the sweet face of the finally peaceful child.
“You can meet the newest member of our family,” she offered, a half-hearted smile tugging at her lips, before quickly fading. “I... I haven’t been able to bring myself to name her yet,” she confessed, her voice a barely audible whisper. Doing so would make it real - that her mother wasn’t here to do it herself and her father couldn’t bring himself to care.
“It’s not fair.”
Everything had happened so quickly.
As she sat surrounded by her siblings, baby in her arms, she couldn’t even fathom how much time had passed. Had it been a week ago or only yesterday? The time that had passed since was a blur. She remembered that night vividly - she would never be able to forget a single detail for as long as she lived.
After all, as a young woman of thirteen, she had been in the room, assisting the midwife. It had been an overwhelming experience from the start. She couldn’t imagine how her mother had already gone through that five times before. It seemed so painful. When the baby came, the relief was tangible. Yet her mother’s labor did not end.
There was a second child.
She hadn’t fully understood what went wrong - only that the baby was in the wrong position and it was hurting both mother and child. It went on for hours. Just endless hours of screaming and panic, trying to coax the child to right itself, trying to ease her mother’s suffering, watching their lives slip away.
By the time the second babe - a boy - was born, her mother was already fading. Myrrine didn’t know much of childbirth, but she was fairly certain that he shouldn’t have looked so blue. That he should have cried. That her mother should have had the strength to ask why he was so silent. Or to hold the first child.
Somewhere between that moment and when the midwife told the rest of the family what had happened, Myrrine had gone numb from the horror and sorrow of it all. All she knew was that she clung to the girl child, knowing that there was no one else to care for her.
Her father had disconnected from the world the instant he heard. She couldn’t even get him to look at his newborn daughter, let alone hold her. He had disappeared into his room and not emerged for... it seemed like weeks. That couldn’t be right though.
Time had ceased to exist for her though. She hadn’t gotten more than a few minutes sleep at a time it seemed. If it wasn’t the baby waking her, it was one of the other children. Her younger siblings were only eight, six and five after all. They still needed tended to. Farris tried to help where he could, but he was handling so much himself. He was the only one who seemed to get through to their father.
The last time she had tried, he had called her by her mother’s name.
Really, she should have seen it coming. She had heard all her life how much she looked like her mother. Even more so as she got older. How could she have not thought that her father’s grief would fixate on that fact? So she left it to Farris to coax him to eat and keep things going. They were well off enough, but not so much so that their father’s work could simply cease for days on end. Not with such a large family as theirs. Farris had already been apprenticing. He could handle it well enough.
They could only hope their father would be able to see the light through his grief someday soon.
There had been so many tears over these past days, Myrrine had lost track. Thyra understood that their mother was gone, but she lashed out constantly. Clio and Leila were just confused, asking when she’d come back. Farris did he best to stay stoic, but she had caught him hiding his own tears. Yet she hadn’t shed any. Not one.
The baby seemed to do nothing but cry. Goat’s milk wasn’t enough, yet it was all that she could offer the newborn. Even when she was full and clean, still she could not sleep. It was as though she sensed how wrong the world was to have robbed her of her mother and brother - the only two constants she’d had in the womb. Now suddenly she was in this harsh world without anything familiar. Myrrine was a poor substitute of a mother, she knew that. Gods knew that she knew that. Yet she was all this sweet little girl would ever have.
All she had was exhaustion. She had no concept of the layers of filth that covered her and stained her clothes, of the way that her braid had half come loose to hang freely in a disheveled manner. She could barely keep her eyes open, her voice was hoarse, her ears rang from the ceaseless crying. There was a pain in her stomach that she didn’t know the cause of - had she forgotten to eat or was it simply guilt eating away at her? Her arms ached from holding the baby who seemed to start screaming every time she tried to put her down.
She was numb - too numb to even realize how badly she was drowning in it all.
Enough so to not even realize guests had arrived. She didn’t hear them at all, nor did she hear her father stir. Farris was at the storefront. Or getting supplies? He was... somewhere. Clio and Leila played together, their troubles as temporary as their understanding of the situation and forgotten for the moment. Thyra had exhausted herself in her last temper tantrum, falling asleep on a cushion on the floor.
Myrrine simply stared straight ahead in a trance, absently rocking the baby who had at last gone quiet.
When would this end? It would never end. There was no relief for her. Not anymore.
It wasn’t until an unfamiliar woman stepped into her glassy gaze that she was able to force her vision to focus. For a long moment she simply stared, trying to place the woman before the memory finally returned to her.
“Dora,” she croaked. Truth be told, she couldn’t even remember writing the letter. It was lost in a haze of feedings and crying and weariness that somehow went deeper than the bone. Just lifting her free hand to accept the offered peach seemed a colossal effort.
“I... how long has it been? I don’t...” She shook her head, trying to piece the facts together and coming up blank. With a sigh she gave up the attempt. “Thank you, for coming.” She swallowed hard, looking down at the sweet face of the finally peaceful child.
“You can meet the newest member of our family,” she offered, a half-hearted smile tugging at her lips, before quickly fading. “I... I haven’t been able to bring myself to name her yet,” she confessed, her voice a barely audible whisper. Doing so would make it real - that her mother wasn’t here to do it herself and her father couldn’t bring himself to care.
“It’s not fair.”
“I received your letter this morning,” was Callidora’s gentle response, sinking down to sit on the floor next to Myrrine. “I don’t know when you sent it. I would assume yesterday, maybe? The day before?”
There was a weariness on the girl’s face that spoke of a burden far beyond what a child of her age ought to carry. Glancing down at the babe in her arms, it wasn’t hard to guess what it was that made her look so haggard, with such a haunting cast to her gaze. “She is beautiful, at least,” the merchant woman murmured, reaching out a gentle fingertip to trail down the little one’s face. “For whatever good it does.”
Sharp green eyes trailed down the fatigued lines of Myrrine’s youthful face, reading the exhaustion and grief there as if she would a scroll. Had the poor thing even slept since it happened? Glancing at the clothes that hung so limply from her frame, the barest hint of a frown furrowed Dora’s brow. Had she eaten?
She couldn’t imagine the grief Tymon was feeling, but to shut himself off from his children in such a trying time seemed like a sin. To leave a girl of thirteen in charge of so many siblings while she was clearly wasting away… With a gentle sigh, Dora shook her head. Gods, this was even worse than she’d imagined it would be.
It’s not fair.
“Oh sweetheart, life rarely is,” she replied, her hand running tenderly over Myrrine’s matted hair. “But this seems particularly unfair, even by the world’s rigid standards.” Glancing over at the two children that played so obliviously, then to the one napping nearby, she swallowed a lump in her throat. To live the rest of their days without a mother, to bear the misfortune of what happened to her and their stillborn little brother—if Dora could take their burden, she would. It was nothing short of a tragedy.
Turning her attention back to Myrrine, Callidora wrapped a gentle arm around her frail shoulders and chafed the top of her arm. “Come, love, you need to eat something, change your clothes, and get some rest. You’ll burn the candle at both ends until you’ve nothing left if you don’t take care of yourself.” Indicating the infant she held, Dora offered a sympathetic smile. “I can look after the baby for a while, if you’d like. I can wash your clothes for you, fix you supper, whatever you need.”
Dropping a kiss on the girl’s temple, she squeezed lightly with the arm that held her. “Demetrius and I are here to help. Just tell us what needs doing.”
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“I received your letter this morning,” was Callidora’s gentle response, sinking down to sit on the floor next to Myrrine. “I don’t know when you sent it. I would assume yesterday, maybe? The day before?”
There was a weariness on the girl’s face that spoke of a burden far beyond what a child of her age ought to carry. Glancing down at the babe in her arms, it wasn’t hard to guess what it was that made her look so haggard, with such a haunting cast to her gaze. “She is beautiful, at least,” the merchant woman murmured, reaching out a gentle fingertip to trail down the little one’s face. “For whatever good it does.”
Sharp green eyes trailed down the fatigued lines of Myrrine’s youthful face, reading the exhaustion and grief there as if she would a scroll. Had the poor thing even slept since it happened? Glancing at the clothes that hung so limply from her frame, the barest hint of a frown furrowed Dora’s brow. Had she eaten?
She couldn’t imagine the grief Tymon was feeling, but to shut himself off from his children in such a trying time seemed like a sin. To leave a girl of thirteen in charge of so many siblings while she was clearly wasting away… With a gentle sigh, Dora shook her head. Gods, this was even worse than she’d imagined it would be.
It’s not fair.
“Oh sweetheart, life rarely is,” she replied, her hand running tenderly over Myrrine’s matted hair. “But this seems particularly unfair, even by the world’s rigid standards.” Glancing over at the two children that played so obliviously, then to the one napping nearby, she swallowed a lump in her throat. To live the rest of their days without a mother, to bear the misfortune of what happened to her and their stillborn little brother—if Dora could take their burden, she would. It was nothing short of a tragedy.
Turning her attention back to Myrrine, Callidora wrapped a gentle arm around her frail shoulders and chafed the top of her arm. “Come, love, you need to eat something, change your clothes, and get some rest. You’ll burn the candle at both ends until you’ve nothing left if you don’t take care of yourself.” Indicating the infant she held, Dora offered a sympathetic smile. “I can look after the baby for a while, if you’d like. I can wash your clothes for you, fix you supper, whatever you need.”
Dropping a kiss on the girl’s temple, she squeezed lightly with the arm that held her. “Demetrius and I are here to help. Just tell us what needs doing.”
“I received your letter this morning,” was Callidora’s gentle response, sinking down to sit on the floor next to Myrrine. “I don’t know when you sent it. I would assume yesterday, maybe? The day before?”
There was a weariness on the girl’s face that spoke of a burden far beyond what a child of her age ought to carry. Glancing down at the babe in her arms, it wasn’t hard to guess what it was that made her look so haggard, with such a haunting cast to her gaze. “She is beautiful, at least,” the merchant woman murmured, reaching out a gentle fingertip to trail down the little one’s face. “For whatever good it does.”
Sharp green eyes trailed down the fatigued lines of Myrrine’s youthful face, reading the exhaustion and grief there as if she would a scroll. Had the poor thing even slept since it happened? Glancing at the clothes that hung so limply from her frame, the barest hint of a frown furrowed Dora’s brow. Had she eaten?
She couldn’t imagine the grief Tymon was feeling, but to shut himself off from his children in such a trying time seemed like a sin. To leave a girl of thirteen in charge of so many siblings while she was clearly wasting away… With a gentle sigh, Dora shook her head. Gods, this was even worse than she’d imagined it would be.
It’s not fair.
“Oh sweetheart, life rarely is,” she replied, her hand running tenderly over Myrrine’s matted hair. “But this seems particularly unfair, even by the world’s rigid standards.” Glancing over at the two children that played so obliviously, then to the one napping nearby, she swallowed a lump in her throat. To live the rest of their days without a mother, to bear the misfortune of what happened to her and their stillborn little brother—if Dora could take their burden, she would. It was nothing short of a tragedy.
Turning her attention back to Myrrine, Callidora wrapped a gentle arm around her frail shoulders and chafed the top of her arm. “Come, love, you need to eat something, change your clothes, and get some rest. You’ll burn the candle at both ends until you’ve nothing left if you don’t take care of yourself.” Indicating the infant she held, Dora offered a sympathetic smile. “I can look after the baby for a while, if you’d like. I can wash your clothes for you, fix you supper, whatever you need.”
Dropping a kiss on the girl’s temple, she squeezed lightly with the arm that held her. “Demetrius and I are here to help. Just tell us what needs doing.”
“Oh.” That was all she could seem to manage. Had it been so little time? It felt like longer. How long had she waited to write to Dora? Had she done it that night? The next morning? She honestly couldn’t even remember doing it. Everything was such a blur. Only a few moments stood out. The rest was just a fog of exhaustion and frustration.
Her gaze shifted back to the baby as Dora commented on her beauty, touching her gently. It brought the barest of smiles to Myrrine’s lips, even if it faded so quickly it was scarcely noticeable. “She is,” she agreed. “I can only hope she doesn’t take after Mother. She deserves at least one parent’s love in this lifetime.” The words slipped out without even thinking.
It had stung more than she had expected. Either her father’s grief saw her as his wife, or his anger spurned her for the resemblance. Her father had always been the doting sort. The last thing she had ever expected during this time was such a complete rejection. Somehow, deep within, she knew that it would change things forever between them.
She had given up any hope for her own happiness. But she didn’t want any of her siblings to have to bear that burden. It was just one more responsibility for her to accept. She could shield them from all the other ills of the world. She could give them that much. They’d already suffered enough.
Myrrine nodded numbly as her mentor pointed out that life was seldom ever fair. It was true. Her family had remained blessed for too long. Her mother hadn’t been particularly old and all her previous births had been simple. No one had expected this one to be any different in truth. It seemed they had been due their tragedy though.
“No one escapes unscathed,” she murmured, her eyes glazed, staring blankly ahead.
It was Dora’s touch that snapped her out of that trance of bitterness. She couldn’t afford to go down that path, but she was too tired and weak to resist the overwhelming emotions that pressed in on her. As she felt the older woman’s hand on her arm, she turned her head to look up at her once more, the effort of such a minor motion seeming monumental in the moment.
“I...” she instinctively began to deny the need, assure her that she had been taken care of. Yet she found she couldn’t remember the last time that food had passed her lips. She could remember coaxing the others to eat, trying to feed the baby, and even preparing something for Farris or her father. But she could not remember eating herself. Surely she had had something though.
“If I try to put her down, she won’t settle,” she said finally, half dazed. “She’s never been alone before. I have to hold her close or she’ll only cry.” She swallowed hard. It wounded her that the darling girl had been born into such a lonely world. No wonder the child was so discontent. She could hardly blame her. Were she just a babe with no responsibilities, only instincts, she imagined she would feel much the same.
But that wasn’t her fate. She was the one who had to hold everyone else together.
Normally, she would refuse such help, too proud to accept help. Now, she couldn’t even scrape up the energy to care. “I... I don’t even know where to start, Dora. Everything’s a mess. All of it.”
All of us.
The words hung in the air unspoken. Still, she leaned into the one-armed embrace and the maternal kiss that was offered, so desperate for even the barest hint of comfort, care or affection. She closed her eyes, leaning against her mentor, trying to remember how it felt to not be drowning on land.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this, there’s so much I was never taught, never prepared for...” Her voice was a hoarse whisper once more, thick with repressed emotion. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes as she confessed this.
“We thought there was more time. I was supposed to have more time.”
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“Oh.” That was all she could seem to manage. Had it been so little time? It felt like longer. How long had she waited to write to Dora? Had she done it that night? The next morning? She honestly couldn’t even remember doing it. Everything was such a blur. Only a few moments stood out. The rest was just a fog of exhaustion and frustration.
Her gaze shifted back to the baby as Dora commented on her beauty, touching her gently. It brought the barest of smiles to Myrrine’s lips, even if it faded so quickly it was scarcely noticeable. “She is,” she agreed. “I can only hope she doesn’t take after Mother. She deserves at least one parent’s love in this lifetime.” The words slipped out without even thinking.
It had stung more than she had expected. Either her father’s grief saw her as his wife, or his anger spurned her for the resemblance. Her father had always been the doting sort. The last thing she had ever expected during this time was such a complete rejection. Somehow, deep within, she knew that it would change things forever between them.
She had given up any hope for her own happiness. But she didn’t want any of her siblings to have to bear that burden. It was just one more responsibility for her to accept. She could shield them from all the other ills of the world. She could give them that much. They’d already suffered enough.
Myrrine nodded numbly as her mentor pointed out that life was seldom ever fair. It was true. Her family had remained blessed for too long. Her mother hadn’t been particularly old and all her previous births had been simple. No one had expected this one to be any different in truth. It seemed they had been due their tragedy though.
“No one escapes unscathed,” she murmured, her eyes glazed, staring blankly ahead.
It was Dora’s touch that snapped her out of that trance of bitterness. She couldn’t afford to go down that path, but she was too tired and weak to resist the overwhelming emotions that pressed in on her. As she felt the older woman’s hand on her arm, she turned her head to look up at her once more, the effort of such a minor motion seeming monumental in the moment.
“I...” she instinctively began to deny the need, assure her that she had been taken care of. Yet she found she couldn’t remember the last time that food had passed her lips. She could remember coaxing the others to eat, trying to feed the baby, and even preparing something for Farris or her father. But she could not remember eating herself. Surely she had had something though.
“If I try to put her down, she won’t settle,” she said finally, half dazed. “She’s never been alone before. I have to hold her close or she’ll only cry.” She swallowed hard. It wounded her that the darling girl had been born into such a lonely world. No wonder the child was so discontent. She could hardly blame her. Were she just a babe with no responsibilities, only instincts, she imagined she would feel much the same.
But that wasn’t her fate. She was the one who had to hold everyone else together.
Normally, she would refuse such help, too proud to accept help. Now, she couldn’t even scrape up the energy to care. “I... I don’t even know where to start, Dora. Everything’s a mess. All of it.”
All of us.
The words hung in the air unspoken. Still, she leaned into the one-armed embrace and the maternal kiss that was offered, so desperate for even the barest hint of comfort, care or affection. She closed her eyes, leaning against her mentor, trying to remember how it felt to not be drowning on land.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this, there’s so much I was never taught, never prepared for...” Her voice was a hoarse whisper once more, thick with repressed emotion. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes as she confessed this.
“We thought there was more time. I was supposed to have more time.”
“Oh.” That was all she could seem to manage. Had it been so little time? It felt like longer. How long had she waited to write to Dora? Had she done it that night? The next morning? She honestly couldn’t even remember doing it. Everything was such a blur. Only a few moments stood out. The rest was just a fog of exhaustion and frustration.
Her gaze shifted back to the baby as Dora commented on her beauty, touching her gently. It brought the barest of smiles to Myrrine’s lips, even if it faded so quickly it was scarcely noticeable. “She is,” she agreed. “I can only hope she doesn’t take after Mother. She deserves at least one parent’s love in this lifetime.” The words slipped out without even thinking.
It had stung more than she had expected. Either her father’s grief saw her as his wife, or his anger spurned her for the resemblance. Her father had always been the doting sort. The last thing she had ever expected during this time was such a complete rejection. Somehow, deep within, she knew that it would change things forever between them.
She had given up any hope for her own happiness. But she didn’t want any of her siblings to have to bear that burden. It was just one more responsibility for her to accept. She could shield them from all the other ills of the world. She could give them that much. They’d already suffered enough.
Myrrine nodded numbly as her mentor pointed out that life was seldom ever fair. It was true. Her family had remained blessed for too long. Her mother hadn’t been particularly old and all her previous births had been simple. No one had expected this one to be any different in truth. It seemed they had been due their tragedy though.
“No one escapes unscathed,” she murmured, her eyes glazed, staring blankly ahead.
It was Dora’s touch that snapped her out of that trance of bitterness. She couldn’t afford to go down that path, but she was too tired and weak to resist the overwhelming emotions that pressed in on her. As she felt the older woman’s hand on her arm, she turned her head to look up at her once more, the effort of such a minor motion seeming monumental in the moment.
“I...” she instinctively began to deny the need, assure her that she had been taken care of. Yet she found she couldn’t remember the last time that food had passed her lips. She could remember coaxing the others to eat, trying to feed the baby, and even preparing something for Farris or her father. But she could not remember eating herself. Surely she had had something though.
“If I try to put her down, she won’t settle,” she said finally, half dazed. “She’s never been alone before. I have to hold her close or she’ll only cry.” She swallowed hard. It wounded her that the darling girl had been born into such a lonely world. No wonder the child was so discontent. She could hardly blame her. Were she just a babe with no responsibilities, only instincts, she imagined she would feel much the same.
But that wasn’t her fate. She was the one who had to hold everyone else together.
Normally, she would refuse such help, too proud to accept help. Now, she couldn’t even scrape up the energy to care. “I... I don’t even know where to start, Dora. Everything’s a mess. All of it.”
All of us.
The words hung in the air unspoken. Still, she leaned into the one-armed embrace and the maternal kiss that was offered, so desperate for even the barest hint of comfort, care or affection. She closed her eyes, leaning against her mentor, trying to remember how it felt to not be drowning on land.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this, there’s so much I was never taught, never prepared for...” Her voice was a hoarse whisper once more, thick with repressed emotion. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes as she confessed this.
“We thought there was more time. I was supposed to have more time.”
Callidora’s own eyes pricked with tears at the sight and sound of the girl’s despair, blinking them away with a hard swallow. Right now, Myrrine needed someone strong and capable, not a blubbering mess. She needed support, not sympathy. And Dora would do her very best to provide just that, in whatever ways she could.
“It is unfair that you should have to transition from a girl to a woman so quickly,” she agreed in a murmur, wrapping both arms carefully around Myrrine and the baby. “But the gods often see fit to test us in ways that rarely make sense until afterward.” Dora herself would come to know those tests very well in the following years, but she would impart what wisdom she could now. “I will admit, though, I can’t imagine what lesson they’re trying to teach you with all this.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. She had no doubt that, in time, Myrrine would rise admirably to the challenge she faced, but she certainly did not envy her position. The raw emotion that creeped through her words combined with the numbness of her face painted a stark picture of bleak hopelessness, and her heart ached for her young friend. Would that she could have offered herself in the teenager’s place.
“Time is never guaranteed for any of us, unfortunately. We always think we’ll have more, but no one can know the future. What’s important is what we do with the time we have now.” A trite sentiment perhaps, but it was the truth. “But you’re not alone, Myrrine,” Dora assured her, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Demetrius and I aren’t due anywhere for at least another month or more, and in that time, we will be here for you in whatever ways we can.” Glancing toward where her husband still spoke with Tymon, she offered a sad smile—one that was briefly reciprocated before his attention turned back to the bereaved father. Looking at the girl again, she went on, “I mean it. If you need me to stay with you, help run the shop, look after the little ones… anything you need. I promise. We’ll make sure you don’t have to do this on your own, as much as we can.”
Climbing to her feet, she offered a hand to Myrrine to help her do the same and started ushering her toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’m going to start some supper for you. I haven’t managed to sicken Demetrius yet with my cooking, so hopefully it should do you for you all, too,” she teased with a wink.
Since the girl wouldn’t (or more likely couldn’t) identify her needs in the moment, Dora would simply take charge and decide for her. Sometimes that’s what one really needed, especially in grief. She understood there was likely little Myrrine could manage to do beyond putting one foot in front of the other. Time would help ease her burden, but until that time came, the merchant woman would do what she could to ease it herself.
Grabbing a couple onions and cloves of garlic from the basket she carried and dried lamb meat from the one Demetrius brought, Dora set to work in chopping the onions and setting a large clay pot of water on the cooking fire to boil. If nothing else, the warmth of the room would do the girl good, help get her blood flowing and bring some color to her cheeks.
Stoking the fire a little higher, Dora nodded and set back to work in crushing the garlic cloves. The pungent scent wafted through the room, setting her mouth to watering. She was hardly an accomplished chef, but gods, if garlic didn’t make everything taste better.
“We’ll get a bit of food in you, and things will already start to seem a little better,” she assured her companion before nodding at her dirty clothes with the hint of a smile. “A fresh chiton too, and you’ll feel like a new woman.”
Sobering, she set the garlic off to the side and regarded Myrrine with solemn green eyes. “I know it all seems hopeless right now, but its going to get better, Myrrine. I promise. Take it one day at a time, and you will get through this.”
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Callidora’s own eyes pricked with tears at the sight and sound of the girl’s despair, blinking them away with a hard swallow. Right now, Myrrine needed someone strong and capable, not a blubbering mess. She needed support, not sympathy. And Dora would do her very best to provide just that, in whatever ways she could.
“It is unfair that you should have to transition from a girl to a woman so quickly,” she agreed in a murmur, wrapping both arms carefully around Myrrine and the baby. “But the gods often see fit to test us in ways that rarely make sense until afterward.” Dora herself would come to know those tests very well in the following years, but she would impart what wisdom she could now. “I will admit, though, I can’t imagine what lesson they’re trying to teach you with all this.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. She had no doubt that, in time, Myrrine would rise admirably to the challenge she faced, but she certainly did not envy her position. The raw emotion that creeped through her words combined with the numbness of her face painted a stark picture of bleak hopelessness, and her heart ached for her young friend. Would that she could have offered herself in the teenager’s place.
“Time is never guaranteed for any of us, unfortunately. We always think we’ll have more, but no one can know the future. What’s important is what we do with the time we have now.” A trite sentiment perhaps, but it was the truth. “But you’re not alone, Myrrine,” Dora assured her, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Demetrius and I aren’t due anywhere for at least another month or more, and in that time, we will be here for you in whatever ways we can.” Glancing toward where her husband still spoke with Tymon, she offered a sad smile—one that was briefly reciprocated before his attention turned back to the bereaved father. Looking at the girl again, she went on, “I mean it. If you need me to stay with you, help run the shop, look after the little ones… anything you need. I promise. We’ll make sure you don’t have to do this on your own, as much as we can.”
Climbing to her feet, she offered a hand to Myrrine to help her do the same and started ushering her toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’m going to start some supper for you. I haven’t managed to sicken Demetrius yet with my cooking, so hopefully it should do you for you all, too,” she teased with a wink.
Since the girl wouldn’t (or more likely couldn’t) identify her needs in the moment, Dora would simply take charge and decide for her. Sometimes that’s what one really needed, especially in grief. She understood there was likely little Myrrine could manage to do beyond putting one foot in front of the other. Time would help ease her burden, but until that time came, the merchant woman would do what she could to ease it herself.
Grabbing a couple onions and cloves of garlic from the basket she carried and dried lamb meat from the one Demetrius brought, Dora set to work in chopping the onions and setting a large clay pot of water on the cooking fire to boil. If nothing else, the warmth of the room would do the girl good, help get her blood flowing and bring some color to her cheeks.
Stoking the fire a little higher, Dora nodded and set back to work in crushing the garlic cloves. The pungent scent wafted through the room, setting her mouth to watering. She was hardly an accomplished chef, but gods, if garlic didn’t make everything taste better.
“We’ll get a bit of food in you, and things will already start to seem a little better,” she assured her companion before nodding at her dirty clothes with the hint of a smile. “A fresh chiton too, and you’ll feel like a new woman.”
Sobering, she set the garlic off to the side and regarded Myrrine with solemn green eyes. “I know it all seems hopeless right now, but its going to get better, Myrrine. I promise. Take it one day at a time, and you will get through this.”
Callidora’s own eyes pricked with tears at the sight and sound of the girl’s despair, blinking them away with a hard swallow. Right now, Myrrine needed someone strong and capable, not a blubbering mess. She needed support, not sympathy. And Dora would do her very best to provide just that, in whatever ways she could.
“It is unfair that you should have to transition from a girl to a woman so quickly,” she agreed in a murmur, wrapping both arms carefully around Myrrine and the baby. “But the gods often see fit to test us in ways that rarely make sense until afterward.” Dora herself would come to know those tests very well in the following years, but she would impart what wisdom she could now. “I will admit, though, I can’t imagine what lesson they’re trying to teach you with all this.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. She had no doubt that, in time, Myrrine would rise admirably to the challenge she faced, but she certainly did not envy her position. The raw emotion that creeped through her words combined with the numbness of her face painted a stark picture of bleak hopelessness, and her heart ached for her young friend. Would that she could have offered herself in the teenager’s place.
“Time is never guaranteed for any of us, unfortunately. We always think we’ll have more, but no one can know the future. What’s important is what we do with the time we have now.” A trite sentiment perhaps, but it was the truth. “But you’re not alone, Myrrine,” Dora assured her, gently rubbing her shoulder. “Demetrius and I aren’t due anywhere for at least another month or more, and in that time, we will be here for you in whatever ways we can.” Glancing toward where her husband still spoke with Tymon, she offered a sad smile—one that was briefly reciprocated before his attention turned back to the bereaved father. Looking at the girl again, she went on, “I mean it. If you need me to stay with you, help run the shop, look after the little ones… anything you need. I promise. We’ll make sure you don’t have to do this on your own, as much as we can.”
Climbing to her feet, she offered a hand to Myrrine to help her do the same and started ushering her toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’m going to start some supper for you. I haven’t managed to sicken Demetrius yet with my cooking, so hopefully it should do you for you all, too,” she teased with a wink.
Since the girl wouldn’t (or more likely couldn’t) identify her needs in the moment, Dora would simply take charge and decide for her. Sometimes that’s what one really needed, especially in grief. She understood there was likely little Myrrine could manage to do beyond putting one foot in front of the other. Time would help ease her burden, but until that time came, the merchant woman would do what she could to ease it herself.
Grabbing a couple onions and cloves of garlic from the basket she carried and dried lamb meat from the one Demetrius brought, Dora set to work in chopping the onions and setting a large clay pot of water on the cooking fire to boil. If nothing else, the warmth of the room would do the girl good, help get her blood flowing and bring some color to her cheeks.
Stoking the fire a little higher, Dora nodded and set back to work in crushing the garlic cloves. The pungent scent wafted through the room, setting her mouth to watering. She was hardly an accomplished chef, but gods, if garlic didn’t make everything taste better.
“We’ll get a bit of food in you, and things will already start to seem a little better,” she assured her companion before nodding at her dirty clothes with the hint of a smile. “A fresh chiton too, and you’ll feel like a new woman.”
Sobering, she set the garlic off to the side and regarded Myrrine with solemn green eyes. “I know it all seems hopeless right now, but its going to get better, Myrrine. I promise. Take it one day at a time, and you will get through this.”
“I cannot imagine the lesson can be worth the cost.” Her voice was hollow, beaten down with grief and exhaustion and a responsibility that was crushing her. She forced a sigh to clear the bitter thoughts that threatened to consume her. She knew the older woman was right, but right now, she couldn’t begin to see any purpose in this situation. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It is what it is. Nothing to do but continue on.”
Myrrine lifted her head, forcing her motion with a strength she did not feel. Perhaps if she kept forcing herself through the steps, someday they might not feel so impossible. She could only hope. The one thing all this had made painfully clear was that everything would depend on her.
“Aye. It was foolish to assume things would go smoothly, that there was no risk of loss. That we knew what to expect.” Her mother had birthed so many children with no complications, that not even the midwife had predicted any trouble with her final pregnancy. “Perhaps this is a lesson in humility,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. “Punishment for the arrogance of such assumptions. I took her presence for granted and I brought this on us all.”
She turned her head, trying not to wince from the simple motion, so that her eyes met her friend’s. “I... I don’t even know what I need,” she confessed with a sigh. There was no energy within her to fight such kindness. No pride left to resist such charity. “Perhaps by then, this little girl will have adjusted to the world a little better.” Enough that she could manage everything on her own.
Her thoughts were interupted as Dora proclaimed she was going to prepare supper. She offered a weary, grateful smile. “I imagine it will be better than anything Farris has managed on his own yet,” she answered. Her brother had been doing all he could to help her, but he was working so hard on the business side of things. His training had more to do with commerce and sales than cooking after all. They would all appreciate a good meal.
She followed Dora into the kitchen, taking a seat even as she held the babe close. The smell of garlic quickly filled the air and all at once Myrrine’s appetite sprang to life. She nodded at her mentor’s remarks about food and a fresh chiton. “Thank you, Dora. I’m so grateful. Words will never be enough for all you’re doing for us.”
Already her mind was days ahead, thinking of all the tasks needed accomplished, trying to figure out how to prioritize so that no one was neglected. Only Dora’s words brought her out of her mental calculations. She bowed her head, blushing slightly at the irony of her words. “You’re right, of course. We just need time. To adjust to new responsibilities, a new routine.” A lack of parenting. She didn’t dare say that out loud though. She was trying not to resent her father, but it was proving difficult. Perhaps when the initial grief and chaos passed, those feelings would fade as well. She could only hope as much.
Her gaze shifted to the child in her arms once more. “I wish there was more I could do for her. I feel like no matter how bad it is for the rest of us, in the end, she’s the one who will suffer the most. She deserved a real mother, one who could offer her everything.”
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“I cannot imagine the lesson can be worth the cost.” Her voice was hollow, beaten down with grief and exhaustion and a responsibility that was crushing her. She forced a sigh to clear the bitter thoughts that threatened to consume her. She knew the older woman was right, but right now, she couldn’t begin to see any purpose in this situation. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It is what it is. Nothing to do but continue on.”
Myrrine lifted her head, forcing her motion with a strength she did not feel. Perhaps if she kept forcing herself through the steps, someday they might not feel so impossible. She could only hope. The one thing all this had made painfully clear was that everything would depend on her.
“Aye. It was foolish to assume things would go smoothly, that there was no risk of loss. That we knew what to expect.” Her mother had birthed so many children with no complications, that not even the midwife had predicted any trouble with her final pregnancy. “Perhaps this is a lesson in humility,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. “Punishment for the arrogance of such assumptions. I took her presence for granted and I brought this on us all.”
She turned her head, trying not to wince from the simple motion, so that her eyes met her friend’s. “I... I don’t even know what I need,” she confessed with a sigh. There was no energy within her to fight such kindness. No pride left to resist such charity. “Perhaps by then, this little girl will have adjusted to the world a little better.” Enough that she could manage everything on her own.
Her thoughts were interupted as Dora proclaimed she was going to prepare supper. She offered a weary, grateful smile. “I imagine it will be better than anything Farris has managed on his own yet,” she answered. Her brother had been doing all he could to help her, but he was working so hard on the business side of things. His training had more to do with commerce and sales than cooking after all. They would all appreciate a good meal.
She followed Dora into the kitchen, taking a seat even as she held the babe close. The smell of garlic quickly filled the air and all at once Myrrine’s appetite sprang to life. She nodded at her mentor’s remarks about food and a fresh chiton. “Thank you, Dora. I’m so grateful. Words will never be enough for all you’re doing for us.”
Already her mind was days ahead, thinking of all the tasks needed accomplished, trying to figure out how to prioritize so that no one was neglected. Only Dora’s words brought her out of her mental calculations. She bowed her head, blushing slightly at the irony of her words. “You’re right, of course. We just need time. To adjust to new responsibilities, a new routine.” A lack of parenting. She didn’t dare say that out loud though. She was trying not to resent her father, but it was proving difficult. Perhaps when the initial grief and chaos passed, those feelings would fade as well. She could only hope as much.
Her gaze shifted to the child in her arms once more. “I wish there was more I could do for her. I feel like no matter how bad it is for the rest of us, in the end, she’s the one who will suffer the most. She deserved a real mother, one who could offer her everything.”
“I cannot imagine the lesson can be worth the cost.” Her voice was hollow, beaten down with grief and exhaustion and a responsibility that was crushing her. She forced a sigh to clear the bitter thoughts that threatened to consume her. She knew the older woman was right, but right now, she couldn’t begin to see any purpose in this situation. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It is what it is. Nothing to do but continue on.”
Myrrine lifted her head, forcing her motion with a strength she did not feel. Perhaps if she kept forcing herself through the steps, someday they might not feel so impossible. She could only hope. The one thing all this had made painfully clear was that everything would depend on her.
“Aye. It was foolish to assume things would go smoothly, that there was no risk of loss. That we knew what to expect.” Her mother had birthed so many children with no complications, that not even the midwife had predicted any trouble with her final pregnancy. “Perhaps this is a lesson in humility,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. “Punishment for the arrogance of such assumptions. I took her presence for granted and I brought this on us all.”
She turned her head, trying not to wince from the simple motion, so that her eyes met her friend’s. “I... I don’t even know what I need,” she confessed with a sigh. There was no energy within her to fight such kindness. No pride left to resist such charity. “Perhaps by then, this little girl will have adjusted to the world a little better.” Enough that she could manage everything on her own.
Her thoughts were interupted as Dora proclaimed she was going to prepare supper. She offered a weary, grateful smile. “I imagine it will be better than anything Farris has managed on his own yet,” she answered. Her brother had been doing all he could to help her, but he was working so hard on the business side of things. His training had more to do with commerce and sales than cooking after all. They would all appreciate a good meal.
She followed Dora into the kitchen, taking a seat even as she held the babe close. The smell of garlic quickly filled the air and all at once Myrrine’s appetite sprang to life. She nodded at her mentor’s remarks about food and a fresh chiton. “Thank you, Dora. I’m so grateful. Words will never be enough for all you’re doing for us.”
Already her mind was days ahead, thinking of all the tasks needed accomplished, trying to figure out how to prioritize so that no one was neglected. Only Dora’s words brought her out of her mental calculations. She bowed her head, blushing slightly at the irony of her words. “You’re right, of course. We just need time. To adjust to new responsibilities, a new routine.” A lack of parenting. She didn’t dare say that out loud though. She was trying not to resent her father, but it was proving difficult. Perhaps when the initial grief and chaos passed, those feelings would fade as well. She could only hope as much.
Her gaze shifted to the child in her arms once more. “I wish there was more I could do for her. I feel like no matter how bad it is for the rest of us, in the end, she’s the one who will suffer the most. She deserved a real mother, one who could offer her everything.”
When Myrrine and the babe were seated and settled, Callidora looked over at them with sadness in her eyes. It made her heart constrict to hear the girl speak in such a way, as if she was somehow responsible for the cruel whims of fate. “Oh, Myrrine, no,” she murmured, setting the garlic off to the side and walking to stand in front of her young friend. Taking her free hand, she squeezed it and shook her head. “No matter what you may think, this is not your fault. No one could have seen this coming; there was no reason to. Sometimes, the gods simply take control, and not in a way any of us can comprehend. But I say again… you didn’t cause this, Myrrine. This isn’t on you.”
Her free hand gently caressed over the babe’s head, offering the infant a grieved smile. Myrrine was right about one thing, though—this poor child would be the one to suffer the consequences. To grow up without a mother and under the care of those who were no more than children themselves… Gods only knew how long it would take Tymon to come to his senses, if he ever did. There were things some men never recovered from, and judging from the fractured look on his face when they’d arrived, she had a feeling this might be one of them.
“I know it will be hard, and I cannot begin to imagine the burden this puts on your shoulders,” Dora murmured to Myrrine, looking from the baby’s face to the girl’s. “And no doubt you will all suffer for it in the end, as harsh a truth as that may be. But you have each other, and some day when the pain of your grief eases, you will all be grateful for it. I know you will do what is best for them, Myrrine. Just don’t forget to do what’s best for you too.”
Kissing the girl’s temple, she stepped away to resume her meal prep and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. It wasn’t her place to cry, not here in a house full of children who just lost their mother. She could share their grief, but she could not claim it as her own. All she could do was lend her strength and desperately hope it was enough.
Setting to work on dicing the lamb meat, Dora was thoughtful in the amiable silence that filled the kitchen. Words of comfort and reassurance could only go so far, especially in the face of such a tragedy. The merchant’s wife meant to do everything she could to back up those words, starting with this simple act of simply making them a meal. She would do whatever she could to be present for a family she’d basically adopted as her own.
“Do you have any potatoes?” she asked to break the silence, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she set the lamb aside. “Maybe some leeks?”
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When Myrrine and the babe were seated and settled, Callidora looked over at them with sadness in her eyes. It made her heart constrict to hear the girl speak in such a way, as if she was somehow responsible for the cruel whims of fate. “Oh, Myrrine, no,” she murmured, setting the garlic off to the side and walking to stand in front of her young friend. Taking her free hand, she squeezed it and shook her head. “No matter what you may think, this is not your fault. No one could have seen this coming; there was no reason to. Sometimes, the gods simply take control, and not in a way any of us can comprehend. But I say again… you didn’t cause this, Myrrine. This isn’t on you.”
Her free hand gently caressed over the babe’s head, offering the infant a grieved smile. Myrrine was right about one thing, though—this poor child would be the one to suffer the consequences. To grow up without a mother and under the care of those who were no more than children themselves… Gods only knew how long it would take Tymon to come to his senses, if he ever did. There were things some men never recovered from, and judging from the fractured look on his face when they’d arrived, she had a feeling this might be one of them.
“I know it will be hard, and I cannot begin to imagine the burden this puts on your shoulders,” Dora murmured to Myrrine, looking from the baby’s face to the girl’s. “And no doubt you will all suffer for it in the end, as harsh a truth as that may be. But you have each other, and some day when the pain of your grief eases, you will all be grateful for it. I know you will do what is best for them, Myrrine. Just don’t forget to do what’s best for you too.”
Kissing the girl’s temple, she stepped away to resume her meal prep and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. It wasn’t her place to cry, not here in a house full of children who just lost their mother. She could share their grief, but she could not claim it as her own. All she could do was lend her strength and desperately hope it was enough.
Setting to work on dicing the lamb meat, Dora was thoughtful in the amiable silence that filled the kitchen. Words of comfort and reassurance could only go so far, especially in the face of such a tragedy. The merchant’s wife meant to do everything she could to back up those words, starting with this simple act of simply making them a meal. She would do whatever she could to be present for a family she’d basically adopted as her own.
“Do you have any potatoes?” she asked to break the silence, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she set the lamb aside. “Maybe some leeks?”
When Myrrine and the babe were seated and settled, Callidora looked over at them with sadness in her eyes. It made her heart constrict to hear the girl speak in such a way, as if she was somehow responsible for the cruel whims of fate. “Oh, Myrrine, no,” she murmured, setting the garlic off to the side and walking to stand in front of her young friend. Taking her free hand, she squeezed it and shook her head. “No matter what you may think, this is not your fault. No one could have seen this coming; there was no reason to. Sometimes, the gods simply take control, and not in a way any of us can comprehend. But I say again… you didn’t cause this, Myrrine. This isn’t on you.”
Her free hand gently caressed over the babe’s head, offering the infant a grieved smile. Myrrine was right about one thing, though—this poor child would be the one to suffer the consequences. To grow up without a mother and under the care of those who were no more than children themselves… Gods only knew how long it would take Tymon to come to his senses, if he ever did. There were things some men never recovered from, and judging from the fractured look on his face when they’d arrived, she had a feeling this might be one of them.
“I know it will be hard, and I cannot begin to imagine the burden this puts on your shoulders,” Dora murmured to Myrrine, looking from the baby’s face to the girl’s. “And no doubt you will all suffer for it in the end, as harsh a truth as that may be. But you have each other, and some day when the pain of your grief eases, you will all be grateful for it. I know you will do what is best for them, Myrrine. Just don’t forget to do what’s best for you too.”
Kissing the girl’s temple, she stepped away to resume her meal prep and swallowed the tears that threatened to spill. It wasn’t her place to cry, not here in a house full of children who just lost their mother. She could share their grief, but she could not claim it as her own. All she could do was lend her strength and desperately hope it was enough.
Setting to work on dicing the lamb meat, Dora was thoughtful in the amiable silence that filled the kitchen. Words of comfort and reassurance could only go so far, especially in the face of such a tragedy. The merchant’s wife meant to do everything she could to back up those words, starting with this simple act of simply making them a meal. She would do whatever she could to be present for a family she’d basically adopted as her own.
“Do you have any potatoes?” she asked to break the silence, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she set the lamb aside. “Maybe some leeks?”
Myrrine looked up at her mentor, and though she didn’t mean for it to be so, her gaze seemed haunted, emphasized only by the dark circles that reflected a profound lack of sleep. She was still a child in so many ways, but childhood had left her when her mother had. It was a truth no one was ready to admit, but she knew it to be the truth regardless. She listened as Callidora pleaded with her to know it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t sure that she believed that, but she nodded anyway.
Blame didn’t matter. It changed nothing of their new reality.
She squeezed the woman’s hand lightly, her grip weaker than it ought to be from self-neglect as she ran herself ragged trying to see to everyone else. A small, petulant part of her wanted to insist that nothing would ever be okay again. That it wasn’t fair. That she shouldn’t have to do this. Certainly not alone. Her father was supposed to take care of them. That was his duty. That she deserved more from life than this.
But that part was silenced quickly. It was pointless anyway. There was no one else. That much was painfully clear. Resisting that would only cause more heartache for everyone. And her family had been through enough.
“You’re right,” she agreed, forcing a small smile. “As long as we have each other... that is everything.” She closed her eyes, nodding numbly as Dora spoke more. “What is best for my family will be best for us all,” she murmured, knowing that she didn’t have the luxury to think of her own dreams and desires any longer. She would never see the world by her brother’s side as she had once dreamed. Her adventures would be tied to the little ones until they were grown themselves. Perhaps that was always the more realistic choice for her anyway.
“We’ll be okay,” she said softly, more a reminder to herself. “We have each other, so we’ll be okay.”
She closed her eyes as she felt Dora press a tender kiss to her temple, shocked as it sent a white hot jolt of grief through her. It was a mothering gesture. Something her own mother had done a hundred times. When was the last time? Why couldn’t she remember? Why did her eyes burn suddenly?
No, she couldn’t break down. She couldn’t. It was too soon. The babe was finally quiet, the children were sleeping... she had to hold it together. Just a bit longer. She could do this, she had to. There was no choice. Push it down. She’d find time to mourn on her own eventually. But she couldn’t lose it now. Someday. She didn’t have to ignore it forever. Just right now.
A long deep breath and finally she dared to open her eyes. Just put away those memories and focus on the present. Focus on the mundane. Potatoes and leeks? Yes, that would do. Nothing to get emotional about there.
“I... I think we did. I remember buying some before...” She swallowed hard. She couldn’t say the words yet. “I don’t know if they’re any good. Or maybe they were already used...” She shook her head. Everything was a blur in her mind. Just endless crying and screaming for days on end. Not to mention she had scarcely ate anything herself to even know what had been made. “They’d be in that basket over there if we have any,” she continued, gesturing slightly.
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Myrrine looked up at her mentor, and though she didn’t mean for it to be so, her gaze seemed haunted, emphasized only by the dark circles that reflected a profound lack of sleep. She was still a child in so many ways, but childhood had left her when her mother had. It was a truth no one was ready to admit, but she knew it to be the truth regardless. She listened as Callidora pleaded with her to know it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t sure that she believed that, but she nodded anyway.
Blame didn’t matter. It changed nothing of their new reality.
She squeezed the woman’s hand lightly, her grip weaker than it ought to be from self-neglect as she ran herself ragged trying to see to everyone else. A small, petulant part of her wanted to insist that nothing would ever be okay again. That it wasn’t fair. That she shouldn’t have to do this. Certainly not alone. Her father was supposed to take care of them. That was his duty. That she deserved more from life than this.
But that part was silenced quickly. It was pointless anyway. There was no one else. That much was painfully clear. Resisting that would only cause more heartache for everyone. And her family had been through enough.
“You’re right,” she agreed, forcing a small smile. “As long as we have each other... that is everything.” She closed her eyes, nodding numbly as Dora spoke more. “What is best for my family will be best for us all,” she murmured, knowing that she didn’t have the luxury to think of her own dreams and desires any longer. She would never see the world by her brother’s side as she had once dreamed. Her adventures would be tied to the little ones until they were grown themselves. Perhaps that was always the more realistic choice for her anyway.
“We’ll be okay,” she said softly, more a reminder to herself. “We have each other, so we’ll be okay.”
She closed her eyes as she felt Dora press a tender kiss to her temple, shocked as it sent a white hot jolt of grief through her. It was a mothering gesture. Something her own mother had done a hundred times. When was the last time? Why couldn’t she remember? Why did her eyes burn suddenly?
No, she couldn’t break down. She couldn’t. It was too soon. The babe was finally quiet, the children were sleeping... she had to hold it together. Just a bit longer. She could do this, she had to. There was no choice. Push it down. She’d find time to mourn on her own eventually. But she couldn’t lose it now. Someday. She didn’t have to ignore it forever. Just right now.
A long deep breath and finally she dared to open her eyes. Just put away those memories and focus on the present. Focus on the mundane. Potatoes and leeks? Yes, that would do. Nothing to get emotional about there.
“I... I think we did. I remember buying some before...” She swallowed hard. She couldn’t say the words yet. “I don’t know if they’re any good. Or maybe they were already used...” She shook her head. Everything was a blur in her mind. Just endless crying and screaming for days on end. Not to mention she had scarcely ate anything herself to even know what had been made. “They’d be in that basket over there if we have any,” she continued, gesturing slightly.
Myrrine looked up at her mentor, and though she didn’t mean for it to be so, her gaze seemed haunted, emphasized only by the dark circles that reflected a profound lack of sleep. She was still a child in so many ways, but childhood had left her when her mother had. It was a truth no one was ready to admit, but she knew it to be the truth regardless. She listened as Callidora pleaded with her to know it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t sure that she believed that, but she nodded anyway.
Blame didn’t matter. It changed nothing of their new reality.
She squeezed the woman’s hand lightly, her grip weaker than it ought to be from self-neglect as she ran herself ragged trying to see to everyone else. A small, petulant part of her wanted to insist that nothing would ever be okay again. That it wasn’t fair. That she shouldn’t have to do this. Certainly not alone. Her father was supposed to take care of them. That was his duty. That she deserved more from life than this.
But that part was silenced quickly. It was pointless anyway. There was no one else. That much was painfully clear. Resisting that would only cause more heartache for everyone. And her family had been through enough.
“You’re right,” she agreed, forcing a small smile. “As long as we have each other... that is everything.” She closed her eyes, nodding numbly as Dora spoke more. “What is best for my family will be best for us all,” she murmured, knowing that she didn’t have the luxury to think of her own dreams and desires any longer. She would never see the world by her brother’s side as she had once dreamed. Her adventures would be tied to the little ones until they were grown themselves. Perhaps that was always the more realistic choice for her anyway.
“We’ll be okay,” she said softly, more a reminder to herself. “We have each other, so we’ll be okay.”
She closed her eyes as she felt Dora press a tender kiss to her temple, shocked as it sent a white hot jolt of grief through her. It was a mothering gesture. Something her own mother had done a hundred times. When was the last time? Why couldn’t she remember? Why did her eyes burn suddenly?
No, she couldn’t break down. She couldn’t. It was too soon. The babe was finally quiet, the children were sleeping... she had to hold it together. Just a bit longer. She could do this, she had to. There was no choice. Push it down. She’d find time to mourn on her own eventually. But she couldn’t lose it now. Someday. She didn’t have to ignore it forever. Just right now.
A long deep breath and finally she dared to open her eyes. Just put away those memories and focus on the present. Focus on the mundane. Potatoes and leeks? Yes, that would do. Nothing to get emotional about there.
“I... I think we did. I remember buying some before...” She swallowed hard. She couldn’t say the words yet. “I don’t know if they’re any good. Or maybe they were already used...” She shook her head. Everything was a blur in her mind. Just endless crying and screaming for days on end. Not to mention she had scarcely ate anything herself to even know what had been made. “They’d be in that basket over there if we have any,” she continued, gesturing slightly.
To imagine what Myrrine was feeling, to picture the pain in her heart… Callidora felt a delicate shudder travel down her spine, one she disguised by looking for the elusive potatoes. Rummaging through the basket her young friend pointed out, she nodded when she found two potatoes and a handful of old leeks. The leeks were probably not salvageable, but if she picked a couple of the sprouts off the potatoes, they should do…
The merchant woman set to work on doing just that, cutting the sprouts from the tubers and setting them aside. The leeks she simply disposed of; it would be all right, she could make the stew without them. She made a note to bring more food the next time she came over, to replenish some of the stores it was obvious Tymon had been neglecting. It had probably been the responsibility of Dysis, anyway.
And would now fall to Myrrine.
For a moment, a verdant gaze rested on the girl, quietly melancholy with arms full of her sister. A sister that would essentially become her daughter, thrust into adulthood with a none too gentle hand. Silently, as she looked on the girl, she swore that she would do whatever she could for the family, would step into whatever role they allowed. With the responsibility that rested on Myrrine’s shoulders, Callidora would not let her bear it alone.
So, she cooked dinner for Myrrine and her family, a quiet and subdued meal with little chatter, even with the ages of the children present. Demetrius sat at her side as they supped with the children and their absent father, his own thoughts following the same somber line as her own. They could halt their travels for a few months, he thought. With everything Tymon and Dysis had done for them, the least they owed her memory was to look after the ones she left behind.
When the meal drew to a close and the children began to retire, Callidora and her husband made quiet preparations to stay for the night, setting up an area in the common room for them both to sleep. Neither would hear any protest, assuring Tymon and Myrrine alike that it was no trouble, and they were happy to stay here. They should not have to be on their own on a night like this, not if a choice was given.
As night fell and the house grew quiet, Dora stood for a moment in Myrrine’s doorway, watching the moonlight filter through the window to illuminate an innocent and exhausted face. An innocence shattered, one never to be found again in the daylight hours. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Dora quietly closed the door behind her as she made her way back to Demetrius, wordlessly taking his hand as glossy eyes met his.
To love someone meant to lose them eventually. But in loss, more love could be found, and ties forged anew. Though it was a dark night, and there would be even darker nights to come… dawn would come eventually. And when it did, she and Demetrius would be there, to aid the ones they loved, in darkness and in light.
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To imagine what Myrrine was feeling, to picture the pain in her heart… Callidora felt a delicate shudder travel down her spine, one she disguised by looking for the elusive potatoes. Rummaging through the basket her young friend pointed out, she nodded when she found two potatoes and a handful of old leeks. The leeks were probably not salvageable, but if she picked a couple of the sprouts off the potatoes, they should do…
The merchant woman set to work on doing just that, cutting the sprouts from the tubers and setting them aside. The leeks she simply disposed of; it would be all right, she could make the stew without them. She made a note to bring more food the next time she came over, to replenish some of the stores it was obvious Tymon had been neglecting. It had probably been the responsibility of Dysis, anyway.
And would now fall to Myrrine.
For a moment, a verdant gaze rested on the girl, quietly melancholy with arms full of her sister. A sister that would essentially become her daughter, thrust into adulthood with a none too gentle hand. Silently, as she looked on the girl, she swore that she would do whatever she could for the family, would step into whatever role they allowed. With the responsibility that rested on Myrrine’s shoulders, Callidora would not let her bear it alone.
So, she cooked dinner for Myrrine and her family, a quiet and subdued meal with little chatter, even with the ages of the children present. Demetrius sat at her side as they supped with the children and their absent father, his own thoughts following the same somber line as her own. They could halt their travels for a few months, he thought. With everything Tymon and Dysis had done for them, the least they owed her memory was to look after the ones she left behind.
When the meal drew to a close and the children began to retire, Callidora and her husband made quiet preparations to stay for the night, setting up an area in the common room for them both to sleep. Neither would hear any protest, assuring Tymon and Myrrine alike that it was no trouble, and they were happy to stay here. They should not have to be on their own on a night like this, not if a choice was given.
As night fell and the house grew quiet, Dora stood for a moment in Myrrine’s doorway, watching the moonlight filter through the window to illuminate an innocent and exhausted face. An innocence shattered, one never to be found again in the daylight hours. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Dora quietly closed the door behind her as she made her way back to Demetrius, wordlessly taking his hand as glossy eyes met his.
To love someone meant to lose them eventually. But in loss, more love could be found, and ties forged anew. Though it was a dark night, and there would be even darker nights to come… dawn would come eventually. And when it did, she and Demetrius would be there, to aid the ones they loved, in darkness and in light.
To imagine what Myrrine was feeling, to picture the pain in her heart… Callidora felt a delicate shudder travel down her spine, one she disguised by looking for the elusive potatoes. Rummaging through the basket her young friend pointed out, she nodded when she found two potatoes and a handful of old leeks. The leeks were probably not salvageable, but if she picked a couple of the sprouts off the potatoes, they should do…
The merchant woman set to work on doing just that, cutting the sprouts from the tubers and setting them aside. The leeks she simply disposed of; it would be all right, she could make the stew without them. She made a note to bring more food the next time she came over, to replenish some of the stores it was obvious Tymon had been neglecting. It had probably been the responsibility of Dysis, anyway.
And would now fall to Myrrine.
For a moment, a verdant gaze rested on the girl, quietly melancholy with arms full of her sister. A sister that would essentially become her daughter, thrust into adulthood with a none too gentle hand. Silently, as she looked on the girl, she swore that she would do whatever she could for the family, would step into whatever role they allowed. With the responsibility that rested on Myrrine’s shoulders, Callidora would not let her bear it alone.
So, she cooked dinner for Myrrine and her family, a quiet and subdued meal with little chatter, even with the ages of the children present. Demetrius sat at her side as they supped with the children and their absent father, his own thoughts following the same somber line as her own. They could halt their travels for a few months, he thought. With everything Tymon and Dysis had done for them, the least they owed her memory was to look after the ones she left behind.
When the meal drew to a close and the children began to retire, Callidora and her husband made quiet preparations to stay for the night, setting up an area in the common room for them both to sleep. Neither would hear any protest, assuring Tymon and Myrrine alike that it was no trouble, and they were happy to stay here. They should not have to be on their own on a night like this, not if a choice was given.
As night fell and the house grew quiet, Dora stood for a moment in Myrrine’s doorway, watching the moonlight filter through the window to illuminate an innocent and exhausted face. An innocence shattered, one never to be found again in the daylight hours. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, Dora quietly closed the door behind her as she made her way back to Demetrius, wordlessly taking his hand as glossy eyes met his.
To love someone meant to lose them eventually. But in loss, more love could be found, and ties forged anew. Though it was a dark night, and there would be even darker nights to come… dawn would come eventually. And when it did, she and Demetrius would be there, to aid the ones they loved, in darkness and in light.