Rebellion

Chapter Nine: Evangeline

Chapter Nine: Evangeline

            When I managed to tear my eyes from the words on the page, I glanced around as though someone had entered the room in the two minutes since I had looked last. I walked to the door, nearly stumbling in my haste, and opened it. Moon looked up at me curiously before darting out, eager to be gone from this room. I closed the door and turned the lock before I leaned against the worn wood, and let out a breath I hadn’t noticed taking.

            I sink to the floor where I stand, not bothering to return to the chair before reopening the book and hungrily seeking more words from my mother.

            As I flip through the book, wondering where to begin, a loose piece of paper falls from its place between the pages. I pick it up gingerly, as though it might bite me, turning it over in my hands. My heart stops as my eyes find my name written in the same familiar, spidery handwriting as the rest of the diary.

            My fingers trembling, I break the thin seal that adorns the paper beneath my name and unfold it carefully.

            I nearly cry when I see my name written again on the inside, and the writing that covers the entire sheet.

My dearest Evangeline,

            If you are reading this letter, I am long dead. Don’t be sad, my dear—it was destined. I could not have prevented it if I tried, and neither could anyone else. Our goddess asked for a sacrifice, and I give it willingly. My only regret is that I will not get to see you and Rose grow up. I would have enjoyed that, I know.

            My dear, I knew you would be the one to find this one day. Your father probably has left my rooms as a shrine to me, as much as that saddens me. Rose, bless her heart, would not have inclination to wander about my rooms. And Evie, darling, though I love you, you always tended to be more clumsy. This is a good trait, though, because it was likely your clumsiness that helped you find this diary, was it not?

            It seems silly to write this letter to you, because if I look up now, you are laying asleep on my bed, you and Rose with your hands entwined. You’re both beautiful—the most beautiful children I have ever seen. Though perhaps I’m biased, seeing as I love you both with the fierce, protective love a mother has for her children.

            But I digress. This letter is not meant to be a trip down memory lane—that is what the diary is for. So you can have a piece of me in my death that you weren’t given in my life. So you can see what I endured, and perhaps find strength to endure what will come.

            This letter is meant to tell you that you are different. You were born with my eyes, Evie, and I could not have been more surprised. They weren’t just Lunandran gray—you had the white crescent, too. When you finish this letter, if you skip to page thirteen of the diary, you’ll find an explanation of my eyes, and I think you’ll understand why I was so startled.

            But your eyes, Evie, mean that our Lady Ailune has a purpose for you. This is both a blessing and a curse, my dear, for your life will have gifts beyond human imagining, but sorrows that seem almost too much to bear.

            I can see the beginning of your gift already, though your fourth birthday was only a few months ago. You are particularly perceptive to how your father and I are feeling, especially when your skin comes into contact with ours. We are both startled by this, and we feel both joy and dread.

            You will be special, Evie, but you will suffer, and I only wish that I knew how to protect you from the pain you will endure.