Many days ago, just over two years to be exact, the youngest daughter of Andrew Taliesin took off into the midst of the night. While some suspect, those some being the few of the hamlet that had known her or heard of her at one point or another, that the girl had ran off with a neighboring boy to grow old with him or fall lost on the way to pass to the next life in his arms- there were others that knew she had never known such a boy and had rather ran away from her cruel mother and father to opt for another life else where.
The youngest daughter was nearly eighteen when she left and by the time she arrived where she would stay, her nineteenth year was arriving. Regalia, a place of religion, terror, beauty, and wealth. The city of Blood and Wine, as she'd been taught. From her first day, she took to the slums and sewers, finding herself - a runaway from a foreign land- fitting in the unsettlingly living situations. It didn't take long though, not far past turning nineteen.. possibly four months, for the Claith girl to find another. A Claith with raven dark hair rather than the ginger red like her own.
The daughter of the Taliesin believed she had found love- something foreign to her most of her life, as foreign as she was to the politics and religion of her new home. She fell for the man hard- too hard for when it drew to it's bitter, sudden end she would suffer to pull herself from the slump he'd throw her into despite half of the problems in it all only being caused by her own grief and overprotectiveness for her first lover.
Not long following the end of her first love and the beginning of her first heartbreak, the woman was caught by the hand and hair of a bold, terrifying man. He had caught her in the act of being an unbecoming thief. He held her wrist tight, frowning in disappointment and casted her away telling her that next time he caught her in such an act, then she could count on the lack of her right hand. The Claith girl had made off, horrified but swayed in the least, her actions not changing. She continued to fill her pockets with falsely earned coin until she was caught yet again by the bold and terrifying man dressed in black and silver.
He was understandably not kind to her, dragging her off in shackles to be tormenting and possibly executed. The girl was half-drowned by the end of it and begging with all she had left for him not to kill her.
Mercy.
That was the word she knew in that moment, the word that remained repeated too many times. Only a sob interrupted her tearful chant and maybe it was that or the story of her home that swayed the silver and black dressed man.
Mercy did come though, slowly. She was blessed first with life and keeping her head. She was blessed second with a chance at the life she was allowed to keep. With those blessings she went far and as the Claith, now dressed in her own black and silver, recalled her life. She wondered faintly what her family was doing that day, the day before she left behind being a child. The day she was no longer a teenager from a foreign land but a young adult who owned a small shop on the corner of a street.
Many miles away, a woman stood out in the average Eriu-Innis rain, wrapped in blankets and lonesome. She lit the lantern that hung not far from her stone cottage. The older woman placed her hand on the slick wood that held up the lantern and offered a tight, tired smile.
"Be safe, my dear sister. You are no longer a child."
@MammaOliver @Suicidium
