A Slave in Elude

Back When I Was...

Eight. I had been eight years old. Even then I knew to be wary of Dwarves with their convoluted contracts and Giants that stole women and girls. I knew to never make impossible promises to Elves.

So, why had I broken the rules?

The day had grown late. I should have gone back home, but I was happy being lazy in the meadow. My dark, almost black hair splayed out among the daisies while I plucked petals singing the "Love me, Love me not" song. Clouds colored peach in the setting sun rode lazily past on the sweet wind. My torn wishes of love fluttered away with them.

It was a pleasant day.

...

No!

I sat upright, sweat making my hair sticky to my cheeks. My hands shook as I forced myself to believe it was a dream, just a dream. I hadn't broken my promise in the eight years I've carried it. I never would so long as I lived. I clenched my jaw hard despite the sharp pain from a rotting tooth.

I wished Grandmother would take me to the herbalist.

"Their medicine is weak! A rip off for those less fortunate!"

Yeah, sure it was. Even in the darkness of my room though, it made my tummy hurt to roll my eyes. Grandmother hated insolence of any sort even if she was in the wrong. If you didn't shape up you would ship out.

But Grandmother and her near abusive antics were not nearly as important as the dream.

I reached blindly for my nightstand, finding my box of matches easily. Once the warm light of my oil lamp filled the room, I felt safer. Fewer shadows for fae or cunning Elves to hide. I threw my covers back to slink softly to my window. Was it secure? I worried. Why? So long as I kept my promise he had no reason to return.

Another wish, more like a regret, was that I had never played in that meadow.

I spread my fingers over the dark wood shutters. My skin nearly blended with the grain. But it was said that a promise kept granted a boon. I frowned, feeling the same disappointment I always did. What was the point of making promises? To torment humans? Was that all I was to him? A plaything? I remembered the laughter we had shared. The games we played until my curfew was hours past. His forest colored eyes with their glowing magic had weaved a beautiful spell.

And I hated him for it. My nails made thin furrows in the wood. I despised his tricks and magic that had bound me to him. Bound me to a life of childish play, whispers, and stares. My room had become my only safe place where I could actually see the person I was becoming. Yet even here, I dared not say the truth. Instead, I pressed my lips to the sliver of space between the shutters and whispered my plea.

"I haven't grown up," I said. "I will never call myself a woman. Would you please come back?"

If he heard my voice, I didn't know. If he heard it before then he was as cruel as my fears had teased. I forced myself to turn from the window. At one point I might have cried, but years of telling myself he could no longer hurt me had finally hardened my heart. For the time being I was convinced that, to him at least, I was invincible.

The cool air cooled my skin as my feet now carried me to the small hearth o my room. Kneeling down, I smiled at my habit that Grandmother hated with such passion. I hid it from her to my best, but I refused nighttime wear. The clingy cloth of the long nightgown made me feel suffocated. She had threatened me many times with a lashing or sending me to the stockades. Even then I didn't fear her discovering my secret as much as I feared him coming to find me sleeping as such. I swallowed hard through my anxiety as I set to stoking my small fire place. The embers didn't catch and truthfully, I couldn't be bothered. It was only fall. The air was barely cold yet it was demanded that every fireplace be lit inside.

"Backwards old bat," I muttered. I imagined myself growing brave enough to say that to Grandmother Ivera's face. How her leathery features would twist with anger and humiliation before threatening me with the leather strips. But in this fantasy I was stronger than the fear she had instilled in me. I would not hurt her. Never would I stoop to her levels of physical violence. I would simply cast her aside and find a way to break all of my bonds, both to her and that Elf.

What would happen if I were to break my stupid promise? I glanced to my small writing desk where my journal lay. It held all my secrets and truths from the day I'd met that Elf. It held things I never wished to know, but the moment my eyes lay upon it, my room fell away from me.

The lock was open.

Worse, the book was open.