Hexe - The Great Exodus

[CH. 0003] - Moonbay

Mir fado

MeerFah−doh

Type: Phrase

Meaning: A sense or omen that something is about to happen, both good and bad. Used to express a premonition or feeling that something significant is about to occur.

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Noctavia's knuckles whitened as she clenched the wooden scrub brush, her arms tense with exertion as she attacked the blue blood stains on the cotton sheet. The skin of her hands turned vivid blue, soapy water splashing onto her dress and the grassy bank beside the river. Her golden hair tumbled over her face like a veil, as if trying to shield her from on-lookers who would see the tears that she stubbornly held back.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, she flung the bar of soap into the river, watching it skip twice before sinking into the murky depths. She stood there on her knees, staring at the water, her hands trembling, the scrub brush falling from her grasp. Then she broke. Her shoulders shuddered, and her eyes flooded. She covered her face with her soapy, raw hands and sobbed.

Tears escaped through her fingers, mingling with the river as if they, too, were trying to scrub away the pain. The sheet lay forgotten on the washing stone. Noctavia felt the weight of the stain as if it were a brand, searing through cloth and skin, marking her as useless-that she was not woman enough.

"Noctavia?"

She turned her head suddenly and saw a faerie running in her direction. Claramae was shorter than her, with little brown moth wings that complimented her hair and eyes. She wore an adorable white dress with colourful embroidery as per the Menschen tradition. Even though Claramae was a faerie and presented all the common characteristics of one, she was still a Menschen, born with blue blood instead of green. How? Nobody knew.

"What's wrong? Why are you sad?" asked the faerie.

Noctavia muttered, "Scheida!" in Menschen, "Eu mir blut!" her voice edged with bitterness.

With a playful smile, Claramae tucked a golden strand of Noctavia's hair behind her ear. "You know we're all ordered not to reply to you when you speak in Menschen. You have to say it in Human."

Exasperated, Noctavia slammed her palms onto her knees and pushed herself up to her feet. Her colourful skirt twirled around her, her blouse and intricately embroidered vest catching the sunlight in an explosion of hues. She was a striking vision-her hair a cascade of pure gold, her eyes a captivating shade of blue, every bit as vibrant as her Menschen lineage promised.

Communicating in a language that wasn't her own frustrated her to no end, especially when everyone around her spoke her mother tongue with ease. She longed to express herself in the mellifluous cadences of Menschen, to encapsulate the nuances of her emotions without tripping over unfamiliar syntax. Yet there she stood, her words whittled down to the bare minimum as if language itself had betrayed her. Not that Noctavia didn't know how to speak human; she was as fluent as Yeso. But she didn't like it.

Her transparent wings unfurled behind her, trailing on the ground like a queen's cape. Barefoot, as was the custom for any Magi, she stood there-imperfections none, save for the anguish that clouded her visage.

"I'm... bleeding, again,'" she finally spoke in Human. "So... no baby, again."

Claramae giggled, relieved, as she was already thinking of the worst scenario possible. She closed the distance between them and grasped Noctavia's shoulders. "Listen, you're a Menschen. It will happen in due time. You'll have a child eventually. Until then... well," her cheeks flushed a rosy hue, "just enjoy the process of trying. You know... o-o."