My darling sister, i am so sorry. I was young and impetuous and selfish, and though i did not sin against Vecatra, my actions hurt you. From that hurt you reacted, and you hurt me and your niece, whom you would never come to know. My darling Glycine, who never had the chance to move from a blessing of Gorse to the protection of Avalon Apple.
I gave up so much out of pain and loss and hurt. And my choices left me ruined. Without either you or Maxele to comfort me. Perhaps this was Vecatras plan all along. That by shedding the comforts of my maidenhood I might grow into my true calling as a mother of the circle now that I could no longer be the mother of my own child.
Enough rambling. If i write it all out maybe i will be able to hold on to it, even if this new deal with the fae goes sour like milk.
It all starts with us, sisters, born five years apart. I idolized you as a child. You were fickle in your affections towards me, as children often are. I remember When we were practicing building fires in the hearth, mama taught us to build mouse houses with a soft bed of fluff for the sparks, airy kindling towers for the walls, and no roof so the smoke birds could fly away. Clumsy three-year-old me accidentally knocked over my tower, and it fell into yours collapsing them both. But yours had embers and it lit the cat’s tail on fire. You were quick as a flash and put it out before she could run away.
We were playing in the village on the hill to the Owls’ Nest. and they had left some empty barrels outside after a feast. You convinced me that it would be fun to roll down the hill in one but you had to put the lid on so I didn’t fall out. You pushed me down the long hil and i screamed so loud. I threw up inside the barrel and you teased me because there was sick all over my clothes and hair when you let me out. I was so mad i cried, and you just laughed at me more. A week later I got my revenge and I threw your favorite doll in the privy. I never told you it was me who did it.
Mama died when I was nine and you were fourteen, and I remember you would hold me at night all that year and we would sing to each other as we cried, unsure what to do with our grief. We sang the prettiest song about a river when we buried her heart in the grove. Papa was never the same after that, he would drink almost every night, but you never let him hit me, even when i was bad. I remember putting salve on your back when he took to you with the hazel switch that one time we stained our good dresses with berry juice.
But time passed and we grew into young ladies. You were rail thin and dark of hair like Papa, and I filled out buxom and blonde like Mama. The boys would always come flirt with me when I sang and always asked me first to dance. It was you who gave me the name Colibri. It was meant to be an insult. That I would suck from any flower who would have me. I didn’t care, I took the name and made it my own and it got me farther than “Lissette” ever did.
When you and Axe got married I knew I should stay away from him, but we were drunk that spring, and you were the spring sovereign, and I was green with envy. We coupled together out in the woods and continued that affair for almost a year before you found out.
The three of us were in the woods gathering herbs, and Axe let it slip that I was pregnant. You assumed that the baby was Axe’s, which it may well have been, but I slept around so much then that the child could have been anyone’s. You flew into a jealous rage. I wasn’t kind to you and we screamed at each other while Axe tried desperately to calm us both down. It didn’t work, but he was never the persuasive one in the family. You picked up a large branch and slammed it into my belly, intending to kill both me and the unborn babe in my womb. I collapsed to the ground screaming and bleeding profusely as Axe tore the branch from your grasp to return the hit. Axe hit you so hard with that branch that it caved your skull in. I still remember the sickening crunch it made.
Axe dragged me out of the woods to get to a healer. He saved my life, though I lost the baby. I named her Glycine (Wisteria), but Isabel told me I couldn’t have children from that point forward. We snuck back into the woods several days later and made it look like your body was dragged off by a malefic. We buried most of your corpse deep in the woods and vow to never share the truth with anyone. We didn’t bury your heart in the grove. I still feel guilty about it to this day. We told people that you attacked me and our screaming at each other attracted a malefic. We said that Axe had to choose who to save and that your body was dragged out into the woods and never seen again. Everyone believed us.
I’m so sorry Natalie. You deserved better, and I abandoned you in my rage and grief. I am so grateful that we were able to forgive each other and that you have found your final rest. I will never forget hugging your ghost and sobbing, holding on to each other just like we did when Mama died. I will keep the bloodstained rose you gave me by my bedside until I too am buried in the ground with an apple in each hand.
