Rising

Chapter 8

The sun shone high in the sky as it did every day, its feeble rays penetrating through the slats of the half-closed wooden shutters. For the first time in a while, I felt at home. Despite my eyes being reluctant to open at first, they were persuaded by the familiar warmth that enveloped me. I spent several minutes fervently contemplating the living space that housed my room. Everything was as I remembered, and the only novelty was a vase of sunflowers on the white dresser, brought by Deimos during my absence, adding a touch of color and filling the air with their intense fragrance. A long day awaited me, the day of truths. I hoped that Deimos would keep his promise and show me everything he had gathered behind my back over the past fifty years. I was content to finally be brought up to speed, to add another trophy to my small collection of personal victories, and yet, at the same time, I felt a profound anxiety engulfing me. I didn't like groping in the dark, because darkness wasn't a part of who I was.Unlike me, Deimos often hid behind the complex and diplomatic image of himself that he had crafted and refined over a century and a half of life. This made me fear being deceived again. 

After all, I had always been straightforward and honest, predictable. I was who I really was like a rushing river, as he himself had defined me. Often, I had the sensation that I didn't truly know him. He showed me one side of his face, then another, and yet another. Slowly, he would piece together the fragments, but he had never completely reconstructed the main facade, allowing the cycle to start anew. He reminded me of the crescent moon, half shrouded in shadows while the other half shone clear and serene, elegant in the sky. I envied his self-control, because I had none. On the other hand, I thought that he, too, might be tormented by jealousy and inner turmoil because of me. I could be who I wanted to be, while he had to adhere to strict norms within the crystal prison our ancestors had devised, what we more commonly called home.People, representatives of the many cities of Lys, citizens, and even I, we all expected something from him always. 

I constantly wondered if he saw me as unstable or as dangerous as a stray mine. He tried to understand me, and I attempted the same from my end, but for one reason or another, we seemed like two travelers journeying toward the same destination yet perpetually on different roads. Often, it was painful how our inability to understand each other shattered our love, even though up until that moment, I had been the one more bewildered. I had grown up with the firm belief that I was born to protect him, to cradle him in my arms and comfort him whenever he needed it most. However, to my great disappointment, I had discovered that it wasn't as straightforward and simple as I had imagined. I understood that it was time to get up when Jan began knocking on my door, urging me to rise. The noise filled my ears, leaving me feeling even more dizzy. Reluctantly, I left my warm and inviting bed and, heading to the bathroom, I washed and dressed sluggishly. 

When I finished, Jan was still waiting for me outside the door. He handed me a small piece of folded white paper, and I quickly glanced at it: "I'm waiting for you in my study." I would recognize that handwriting anywhere; I had seen it evolve over the years from when I was five until it transformed into the elegant and refined script Deimos used today. I thanked Jan for his patience, and in response, he flashed me a sparkling smile and cheerfully said, "Did you forget that's what I'm paid for? And things could have been much worse. I'd never want to end up in the clutches of the governor, stern and stiff as Mr. Jonson."