Her Mother had told Elfy, she never could quite keep her from the Sea.
"Even in the womb." Her mother chuckled, accent thick on her tongue. "You would claw towards that water like it was your
life force Elfy.
Elf pressed her lips together breathing in the warm steam from the cup pressed against her lips.
"When you came out crying, Mophehad walked you to the sea, the Sea was the only thing that could get yer crying to
settle." Mother hummed, her strong melodic voice happily reliving the memory. "And your hair," her lips turned up at the
comment of my hair. "Unruly as ever, shining like the sun. Your eyes like the light bouncing off the water. Golden, turquoise,
all the colors that ever did be pretty."
Elfyies cheeks blushed at her Mothers drunken stories. If only Mother had liked the Sea even partly as much as Elfy she
could've sworn Mother was a sailor in her past life. The stories, the ail, the cursing, it all lined up. Not to mention the horde of sea cats that always seemed to sit at her Mothers wake.
Elfy could only assume she took more after her Father. Her mother in the nicest sort of way was brutish, strong, her
northern accent drowning out her words.
Elfy was anything but. The Soft spoken clean set Eastern accent had seeped into her words, along with hints of her mothers northern inflections, leaving her with breathy tongue unlike others in town. She hadn't been built for true work like her mother. Elfy was frail, the towns folk had declared it the sea air making her sickly as a child. Elfy, never believed this, chalking it up to simply her stature. Her blond hair was always wind blown and sea tinted. Her eyes large and flighty. She had also, much to her mothers display, taken a liking to long hand embroidered linen white dresses. Surely it didn't help with her pale features, but Elfy couldn't but help smile when she looked at her handiwork lining her garments. It was surely the only reason the towns folk were willing to feed her was that she was the only artisan in the village.
YOU ARE READING
The Sorrows The Sea Sings
FantasiaElfy was two when the first storm reached Boestrings banks. The sea sprayed salt onto her bedroom window, the grey lights dancing in her hands. Her cheeks frosted the thin pained glass as she listened to each wave rise and fall, each louder than the...
