Fireweed

Three

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains depictions of self-harm.

There had never been a time in Cynthia's life that she had questioned her worth.  Her mother, Lillian, had never sheltered her from her destiny.  Cynthia's earliest memories were of her mother telling her of her fate.  One day she would find a man who she loved very much.  She and that man would have a daughter.  And they would love their daughter with all they had.  The rest of their lives would be devoted to keeping her happy and safe.

But then they would die.  There was no telling how, but somehow Cynthia and her future mate would die young, orphaning their beautiful daughter at a very innocent, tender age.  There was nothing that could be done about it.  It was nothing to be afraid of, and nothing to try to prevent.  It was simply destiny.  It was all part of the role Cynthia was to play in the world.  Her daughter had to be orphaned in order for her to reach her full destiny.  For before she could rise as Ember's Gem and break the curse, the savior first had to suffer as Ember had suffered.  Lose as Ember had lost.  Mourn as Ember had mourned. 

All elementals knew the prophecy, but there was none who understood it with the same depth of personal responsibility as Cynthia carried.  It had to be her who would bear the savoir.  Her mother was a direct descendant of Ember's eldest child, and Cynthia and her mother were the last of their kind.  Assuming Cynthia mated a human male, the magick in her blood would overwrite the dullness in his, and their child would be the last lightning tigress on earth, just as Ember had been the last gem.  "Member of a dying race," as the prophecy told.

Even as a small child, Cynthia had respected the seriousness of her purpose.  She didn't resent her worn out, dirty clothing, or the aching emptiness in her belly every night.  She wasn't ashamed of her poverty.  It was all part of the legend.  The Child of Ember was to be "one part royal, one part rags" after all.  Cynthia was supposed to grow up poor.  That way, when she found herself mated to a "royal" of some sort, she could raise the destined savoir to have sympathy for the hungry and underprivileged.  Her daughter would not be spoiled by the wealth her father provided her.  No, Cynthia would make sure that before she died, her daughter would have a very healthy understanding of those in need.   

Hearing of her future reassured Cynthia that her struggles would someday be worth it.  And it was the one time between her and her mother that they were able to relax and just focus on each other.  It was a nightly ritual.  Just after bedtime prayers, Lillian would hold her close and tell her all about the days of Ember's patronage, the curse that befell her and her elementals, and the savoir that Cynthia would bear to set things right.  It was the only time of day that Cynthia's mother seemed to be fully focused on her.  Lillian might have been a loving parent, but most times she seemed to be...well, distracted.  She was always so focused on getting their next meal, always scanning the crowd for potential threats.  She didn't have any time to play with Cynthia.  And none of the other kids around town seemed interested in inviting Cynthia into their games.  Cynthia's days were spent bored and hungry, holding the little cup and very sweetly asking passerby for spare change.  But at bedtime, it was all about her and her future daughter.  She looked forward to it every day.

But one night when Cynthia was six years old, instead of going to bed after their prayers, Lillian pulled a sleepy Cynthia onto her back and started walking down the main road. 

"Where are we going, Mommy?" she asked in the middle of a yawn.

"A special trip," Lillian said. 

"Where to?" Cynthia asked.  Lillian had never taken her on a trip before.  In fact, she couldn't remember ever being outside the town of Graycott.