A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

End of the Beginning

Photographer Unknown

It was real. After an incredibly long journey it was finally real and here before my eyes. The city of Lorena. I stared up at the misty mountain, open mouthed with awe.

The tip of the mountain was shrouded in clouds, largely obscuring it from view. Below it, crystal clear waters reflected the island in perfection and I felt almost guilty for cutting through the image.

For just a moment, I indulged myself with a look in the mirror and I was delighted to find the image of a beautiful little girl staring back at me. Dark eyes twinkling in the night. Curls of hair framing dainty features.

No mirror had ever shown such truth before.

At the base of the mountain, thousands of twinkling lights winked in and out of existence. As if greeting me in morse code. A city of magic and myth, whispered in my ears from the moment I was old enough to understand yearning.

I pushed my oar through the water with renewed strength.

Compared to an eternity of search, the final steps felt the longest of all. As if the whole world were holding its breath for my arrival. The closer I got to the city the more time slowed down, until I was dizzy with anticipation.

And then I was there.

The tip of my boat bumped gently up against the shore of Lorena. Tripping over myself in excitement, I clambered out of the boat and threw myself onto the grassy banks of my new home.

Assuming things went as planned of course.

I allowed myself a breath to laugh. Giddiness bubbled up inside of me as my fingers threaded through the grass. Cold under the night sky and solid beneath me. What a joy it is to live when you have not done so for so long.

When at last I came down from my high, I got to my feet, brushed the dirt off my dress and began to make my way towards the Barrier.

That tall, shimmering wall. The last hurdle between me and freedom.

After a slight climb up the sloping embankment, I circled around the city, letting my fingers trail against the enchanted glass.

The wall was cold beneath my touch and they ground me to the moment. My mind cleared with each step I took, I remembered what I was here for and I was prepared to do it.

Until I reached the entrance.

There, sitting in a booth built into the wall, a cloaked figure peered down at me.

"Hello," I said, clearing my throat somewhat nervously.

The figure tilted their head and stared at me for a moment before slowly reaching up. They removed their hood with unhurried motions, revealing the face of a kindly old woman.

"Greetings, my child," she said to me and already her voice felt like home.

I gaped at her, momentarily forgetting my words and my mission here. "I want to tell you a story!" I said after far too long.

She smiled softly, with a hint of sadness. "If you do so, I can never let you leave."

"And I hope you'll see I never want to," I answered dutifully.

"Tell me," she prompted.

So I did.

I told her a story of a little girl, abandoned and afraid. The story of someone who had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The story of a person, who just wanted permission to be themselves.

The moment I started telling the first story, all the rest of them just came tumbling out. Tale after tale climbed over each other, up and out of my throat. Fighting for the chance to be heard.

Somewhere along the way, the tears started falling. And even now I don't know what it was that proved too painful to remember.

It might have been the story of other girls in pretty dresses, pulling on my hair that wasn't good enough for them. Or maybe the story of little boys, too like myself but not enough, who laughed when I wanted to paint my nails. Or maybe the story of little girls, just out of reach.

I told her all of it.

By the time I was done she was weeping too.

"Is that enough of a story?" I choked out, the experience reinforcing more than ever before my desire. No. My need to enter this city.

"My child, nothing I give you could ever prove to be enough in the face of that story." She spoke in the voice of a mother I never had.

My legs trembled, threatening to give out but still I stood there. "What does that mean?"

She paused for a long time and my blood flowed like ice in my veins. Fear threatened to drown out my hope and the hatred I'd tried so hard to outrun snapped at my heels.

"It means that once in a century, I meet someone with so much pain that they cannot be healed by simply running away." She sighed and leaned out of her booth, holding out a closed fist.

On instinct, I held out my hand in return and she dropped a key into my open palm. "For as long as you live, you may come and go as you please. All I ask is that you return the key to me once you have found a home."

"Is this not my home?" I asked, my voice steadier than it had ever been before as I turned the key over in my hands. It was warm against my skin and filled me with an unbelievable warmth. I felt that I knew her answer before she spoke.

The figure shook her head, "No. Because easy answers are not what you truly seek. But you do need a place to rest your feet when the fight becomes too much. You will leave your mark on the world yet, but it will not be without help. My child this is not your home but it will be your sanctuary for as long as you need it, and you will never be alone again."

Her words washed over me as a wave of calm and I knew in my heart that she was right.