The Seelie Curse

Chapter 49

Rowan blinks against the bright light. Colours are swirling around her, clouds of green and orange. There a paler one too, a shade of gold. Droplets are suspended throughout the clouds, shimmering balls of inky darkness. Rowan reaches out to touch one, hesitating before she actually makes contact with it.

Light flashes around her and she blinks. The world reorders itself in the split second and when her eyes open again, she's in her house. Rowan's eyes widen in shock and she turns, looking around the room. It's the kitchen, in the early afternoon. Laughter echos in from the hallway and Rowan turns again, searching for the source.

A little girl comes running in, her long hair spilling around her waist. She's about three years old and has plant matter clutched in her tiny fists. Rowan recognizes it at once. Wood sorrel and wild garlic. The little girl reaches up towards the table, but she can't quite make contact with even its edge. She pouts, slumping back to the ground.

She looks down at the plants in her hand and frowns for a moment before it dissolves back into a grin. She plucks one sorrel plant from the bunch and sticks it into her mouth. Her face scrunches up momentarily at the lemony flavour and then calms. She starts giggling madly again, humming to herself.

There is a sound from the hallway and Arwen comes in, her eyes sweeping around the room. She stalks around the edges of the kitchen, her footsteps loud. The little girl scrambles to fit beneath the table, positioning herself in the very center as she watches the older woman with wide eyes. Arwen speaks, her voice in a false whisper and full of joy.

"Where are you, little thief? Where'd you go with those plants? We need them for supper tonight."

Rowan gasps. The little girl is her, she's in a memory. Her recollection of this event is faint, but still there. She'd only wanted to help bring the greens to the kitchen. Memory Rowan giggles, clutching the plants tighter to her chest. Her mother looks beneath the table in a flash, reaching for Rowan.

"Come here, little thief."

Memory Rowan obliges at once, crawling across the floor to her mother. She reaches out as best she can without dropping the greens and lets her mother scoop her up into her arms. Little Rowan giggles again, reaching for the table. Arwen carries her daughter over to the table so Little Rowan can place her little pile of greens onto the counter.

Then she sweeps out of the room for a moment, Rowan still on her hip. When she returns, she's carrying a basket in her free hand. It's full of plants just like the ones Little Rowan had been holding, with a few other plants sprinkled in. Chickweed and dandelion, and a few gorse flowers too.

Arwen places Little Rowan on a stool and turns away from the counter to grab a large bowl, placing it on the counter in front of Rowan. Memory Rowan grabs a handful of greens from the basket and dumps them in the bowl, a few leaves sticking to her skin. She giggles, grabbing another handful and dumping it in.

Once all the greens have moved, she tries to reach into the bowl for a gorse flower. Arwen lightly bats her daughter's hand away and picks her up, lowering her to the ground. Rowan just sits down at her mother's feet and pouts, looking up expectantly. Arwen doesn't look down immediately, so Memory Rowan tugs on the leg of her mother's pants. Arwen looks down and laughs.

"What is it, Rowanberry?"

"Want to help!"

Arwen taps on the counter. "Hmmm. Do you want to go get Gran first or go find a book to read with her while I'm cooking?"

Little Rowan's face scrunches up in concentration. "Gran!"

She darts out of the room, her feet padding over the floor. The room flashes bright again and the real Rowan emerges from the memory, her eyes wide. She doesn't actually remember most of that. At least not consciously. She goes to touch another memory, grinning. She finds herself in the hallway of the house, darkness all around her. There's a sniffling sound from behind her and Rowan turns.

Her younger self is standing there, hair in a cloud around her head. There is enough light for Rowan to see tear tracks on her younger self's face. She's about eight years old now, clutching a stuffed acorn to her chest. Younger Rowan steps across the hallway and pushes her mother's door open. She walks over to the side of the bed and looks at her sleeping mother with wide eyes. Her voice is small, scared.

"Mum?"

Arwen's eyelids crack open just a bit to look at her daughter. Her words blend together slightly with sleep.

"What is it, Rowanberry?"

"I had a nightmare."

Arwen pats the bed beside her. Rowan tosses the acorn up before she pulls herself into the bed. Well, she tries to pull herself up. It's a bit too high for her to do it easily. Arwen reaches down to grab Rowan's arm, stabilizing her as she steps onto the edge of the bed frame. Once up, Rowan grabs the acorn and crawls over to her mother, situating herself with only the barest bit of space between them. Arwen wraps an arm around Rowan and pulls her in close.

"What was your nightmare about?"

Rowan sniffs. "There were pixies. They wouldn't leave me alone. They were just being mean." She sniffs again. "But the nice man helped. He scared them away."

Arwen sits up, her eyes widening. "Nice man?"

Little Rowan nods. "He has long hair, like me. He has these funny things on his head too, like branches. His eyes glow too. The pixies don't like him, he doesn't let them be mean to me."

"Is he a faery?"

Rowan nods. "Yes. He helps when I have nightmares. He scares the bad fairies away." She pauses. "Can I stay with you tonight, Mum?"

Arwen nods. "Of course, Rowanberry."

Rowan snuggles down against the pillow, wrapping her arms around her plush acorn.
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Yes, tiny Rowan has a stuffed acorn. Yes, that might be weird. But it shows how much she loves the forest, doesn't it? What do you think of Little Rowan? What about her nightmare? Does that mean something? Tell me your thoughts!

Happy reading and I'll see you next chapter!

~Goddess of Fate, signing out.