The Note

The Beginning

Tora never felt alone. Growing up she never was alone. Someone was always by her; keeping an eye on her. 

Either her chambermaids that dressed her primly each day or Nanny, who Mother never let leave her side. As a young child she asked why. She wanted to know why she was allowed to wander her rooms, training space, and gardens, yet nothing beyond the great walls. 

The answer she was given only made her more confused.

"You're special." Mother told when she'd asked at the fragile age of six. That's what everyone told her.

The problem with being special though, seemed to mean that she had to be walled in from the world. 

She knew they wanted her to accept this, but with such a strange reason she couldn't help but want to know more. No one would explain though. 

She was just- special. . .

Apparently she needn't know more. . .

Of course, that didn't change the fact that she wanted to know more. The words need and want really seemed the same.

After years of this she finally, in a tantrum, yelled at Mother to give her better answers. She was so angry she didn't notice the shift in Mother. Tora only noticed that she wasn't answering, a realization that bugged her more.

But then Mother stood. She rose above Tora, a giant looking down upon her with the eyes of a seething Goddess. Then she whipped her hand up and cut down across Tora's mouth; a serpent striking.

A cry jumped from Tora as she raised a hand to her throbbing mouth. She watched in shock as, without a second glance, Mother turned and left.

Tora was led away in stunned silence. It took her a bit to realize she wasn't being taken to her luxurious chambers. Instead, Nanny was leading her toward the garden. Worried excitement bubbled up over her stinging disbelief at being hit. She loved her garden.

As she walked her thoughts tumbled to make excuses as to why Mother had hit her. But she couldn't think of a good one. She honestly couldn't believe Mother had hit her. The pain of the slap was ebbing, but her heart still hiccupped in pained confusion.

As she thought, she mindlessly followed behind as Nanny led her forward. Nanny didn't seem to notice Tora's worried thoughts. Instead she just walked calmly forward, her grip on Tora's hand unflinching.

She led her through the beautifully groomed gardens and toward the lone shed that stood in the center. Warm sunlight blanketed Tora's body and she sighed in it's comfort.

The shed even looked pretty, with vines and flowers decorating its windowless clay walls and hay roof. Maybe there was something new inside for her to play with.

Nanny opened the door and sat down inside.

Nothing but firm gray walls filled the one room building. No windows, no lamps, no furniture; nothing. Confused, Tora walked in. The door closed behind her and darkness seemed to eat the light.

She yelped and ran back to the door. Her hands slammed into the wood and jerked in search for the handle. Only smooth wood and clay met her hands. The door had no handle on the inside. Shocked, she cried and raged in fright. But soon, her will seemed to drown. Soon, she too sat down.

Days turned into weeks as she stayed in that room. Food hardly came through the small slot in the door and Nanny never spoke. The shock kept her huddled in a corner. Confusion was a ball in her head. It bounced around and around. It never found solace. 

She had nothing to wrap around herself when it grew cold, and when it grew to hot she stripped and panted on the floor. 

After awhile she could see bits and pieces; the outline of Nanny. The corners of the shed. The only sounds were her and Nanny's breaths, along with the occasional bird calls and other noises of nature.

Soon the room was infested with the smell of her and Nanny's excrement. Every once in a while a draft of wind would break through the hay above the boards of the roof and she'd rush to inhale the fresh air. As time passed a harsh fever swept over her and the days swirled by.

Nanny hardly looked at her, but when she did Tora could always feel it. In those moments she made a point to glare back.

She wondered why even in punishment, because this had to be punishment, someone watched her. . .

Then, the door finally opened. She'd been sleeping but Nanny shoved her awake. The sunlight that burst into the dreary room burned her eyes. Tears painted her cheeks as a guard led them out. The overwhelming fresh air was heaven. She wondered if maybe she'd died. . .

But her body felt to awful to concur that thought.

She noticed she was being lead somewhere again. As she walked, she realized it was to the reading room. The knowledge that Mother would be there dampened her joy at being outside. 

She would have to enter that room whose walls were filled with books. She'd have to sit in one of the two chairs and face her mother. She knew, because that was the only place Mother met with her. 

She hoped to feel relief, but it physically hurt as she walked through the halls; adding more pain to the sickness that pulled sweat from her skin and pulsed through her head .

Was the punishment over? 

It hurt to hope, but she hoped all the same.

As her sore eyes leaked tears and tried to focus, she felt. . . unreal. She let her eyes look over the walls now and squinted at the blurred torchlight scenery. Her brain was twisting, contorting with all the questions that plagued inside. . .

She still, after all these weeks, couldn't believe Mother had done this. Couldn't believe that she'd locked her in a room, starved her, and let her sleep on dirt with not even a bucket to relieve herself. Mother couldn't have. She was- Mother. Mothers didn't do that. 

Did they?

When she entered the reading room she sat in disbelief as her mother treated her to fresh berries. Hunger knotted her belly and she jerked her hands into the bowl. She stuffed the sweet berries into her mouth and licked the juice's from her fingers.

Then Mother spoke.

"Child. Why can you not leave these grounds?"

Tora froze, a handful of berries halfway to her mouth. She looked into Mother's smiling face. Seeing Mother's calm smile filled her chest with joy. Feeling heartened she took a deep breath.

"Because. . . I'm. . ." She didn't think she was special and she didn't really believe that's why she couldn't leave.

Mother's eyes narrowed at her hesitation and Tora felt the air of lighthearted cheer disappear. The memory of Mother hitting her flashed forward.

"You are what child?"

Tora no longer felt warm and content. In fact, Mother's easy smile wasn't comforting at all now. She bit her lip and stared at the floor.

Yet. . . she still wanted to make Mother understand.

"I'm really not special Mot'er!" She blurted with angst. She jumped out of her chair and bounced on her feet. She ignored Mother's darkening look.

"Mot'er I-" Words wanted to explode from inside her, but she couldn't find the right ones to say.

Mother's smile was gone. Her face was clear, with no emotion.

"You are my child. Mine."

Confusion curled inside and Tora stopped bouncing. Her clammy hands curled together as she listened to Mother's words.

"You are special because you are mine. I can't let you be destroyed- and destroyed is what you will be outside these walls."

Tora stood shocked. She was more confused than ever, but she didn't dare say anything.

Mother saw her uncertainty and exasperation filled her tone.

"Don't you understand, child! If you leave these walls you'll be ruined! Dead!"

Tora froze. Mother never yelled. But then, she never laughed either, and she was doing that now.

"Do you even know what death is child?"

Tora felt a chill prickle her skin.