Eternally hers

Bittersweet Sorrow

Inching my way to the sofa, I take a seat. I sit across from Adit with the evil book between us. I look at her casually sitting there. She gives off a lazy, laid back ambience. It's almost as if she doesn't have a care in the world. But her eyes they say differently. Her eyes are following my every move or shift. She is like a predator and I am her prey. I am not afraid of Adit. She is just very unpredictable. And her body movements give away nothing. It isn't as if she actually has to move to hurt someone also.

She is dressed in a white sarong with some sort of binding covering her chest. I was correct in my previous assessment of her. She is covered in tattoos and designs with very intricate marking etched into her skin. She has an array of piercings adorning her ears and face. She wears a simple set of a clamshell necklace and bracelets. She is dreads are designed up in a mohawk style cascading down the middle of her back. The sides of her head are shaved bald allowing me to see even more tattoos and more intricate markings.

"What are those?" I ask her. She tilts her head. "The markings that cover you."

"Blessings of my mother and father," she answers simply.

A silence falls between us. I don't know if she is waiting for me to speak or not. I hope not. I don't even know where to begin. This is what I have been wanting since she stepped into our lives, to be able to talk to her, to finally get answers to all the questions. And now that the opportunity to do so is present, I can't get anything out.

"Shall I start?" she asks me. Her eyes are partially dancing with amusement. I'll take that over pity.

I nod my head. My eyes shift to the dark book between us.

She gets up and picks up the book, walking over to the bookshelf she places the book on top of it. I notice that she keeps its away from the rest. It's like she believes that one book could contaminate the others. Turning back to me, she walks over to her chair and sits, Crossing her ankle back over her knee. She looks at me and cocks an eyebrow?

"Better?" she asks.

I blink and nod. I don't understand why the presence of that book affects me so much.

She takes a deep breath, steeping her fingers together with her elbows resting on her leg. Her eyes begin to do a slow roam around the room before landing back on me.

"You know, when I was growing up on Mecca, my life was relatively simple," she says while breathing deeply through her nose. "I was sheltered in certain aspects of our world, in our lifestyle. I knew that my parents were special beings. I knew I was a special being but my mother and father wanted me to just be a child, to be able to live life without all the stress that would one day come.

I knew and understood early on that my parents weren't together, or shall I say, that my father was married to someone who wasn't my mother. I had siblings that didn't come from my mother. And for the most part my father kept me away from his other children. The few times we were all brought together for some function or other that the courts demanded, I would receive these looks form them and certain guests. My father always made sure I was never left alone during these events, either he personally was beside me or his most trusted circle.

Most importantly, I never understood why I never met his wife. I would hear her servants whispering about her as if her very name was forbidden. As if she herself was forbidden. Even my siblings would never be with her nor did they ever mention her."

Looking at me fully she smiles. But it isn't a real smile. There is no light shining in her eyes. It's just a plain movement of her lips.

"Now you have to understand something," she continues. "People of Mecca age differently than people on Earth. And being the product of my parents, I aged differently from both. Along with my siblings. We age a lot slower to give our bodies time to adjust to everything. And by everything, I mean our powers, gifts and lifestyle. It can be very taxing on the body and mind. That being said by my age of seven about 475 human years have passed.