~Book of Mirrors~
~Part One~
Today, on this cool and dark late August
night, I will die. I will be killed in the usual way, by burning at the stake
for my sin of being a witch. I ask myself, as I have done so many times in my
short life: why? Why did I do this to myself? I could have easily revoked my
blood line. I could have chosen never to take the oath. No one ever made me
practice witchcraft. So…why? Why did I do it?
I suppose you could liken that to asking a
squirrel why they chose to have a tail. They could pretend it doesn’t exist,
they could tell people they were born without it, but what does it change? Down
to the little animal’s core, they know what they are and what they have. And no
amount of pretending will ever change that.
So I suppose that leads us to another
question: why am I here? What have I done to deserve my early death?
I suppose it all began, my story that is,
before I was even born. To tell my story, I have to tell the story of my
family, and that all began with the marriage of Frances Rice and Leonard Green.
They didn’t have a big wedding, I have been
told. Simple, quite, but pretty. They were the perfect couple for their time.
Or so everyone assumed…
It was the same old story of the abusive
husband, the subservient wife, and the pretty little middle class life they
lived. She got pregnant with my Aunt, Karen. The story continued its common
story, simply adding another person for him to abusive in private and smile at
in public. Life was how it was meant to be, it was how fate saw their future.
And then she was born.
My mother, Mary, was a child never conceived.
Mr. Green stopped having sex with his wife after Karen was born, as was common
for their time. Sex was vulgar and barbaric, apparently. And so, when little
Miss Francey Green was told of her pregnancy, she was righteously fearful, for
two reasons. One, where had the baby come from? This was a time when oddities
where explained with myths, superstitions, and regarded in fear. What she
carried must be something evil, something horrible. This, of course, led her to
her second fear. What would her loving husband think? Obviously, the child
couldn’t be his. Therefore, she would either be accused of in with adultery, or
be charged as a witch.
Either one was a death sentence for young Miss
Francey.
Even through her fear, she knew she couldn’t
hide her pregnancy. So, she trusted her husband and told him. He promptly
attempted to beat the illegitimate child out of her. He almost killed
her…almost. Something kept her from the brink of death, even when Mr. Green was
certain he had killed her. After realizing his attempt at killing her had
failed, Mr. Green became frightened and confused. No women could be that
strong, surely!
And so Mr. Green came to the conclusion that
his pathetic mess of a wife could be only one thing: a witch.
Miss Francey was locked up in a dark
underground cellar to await her cruel fate, while Mr. Green conversed with the
Church. Mr. Green wanted his wife dead as soon as possible, so that he may find
another wife quickly. A young man with a young daughter and no wife was a
blemish on society that no one would tolerate for long! Unfortunately for Mr.
Green, but I suppose rather fortunate for the oddity growing inside of Miss
Francey, the Church refused to kill an innocent, unborn child. Their ruling was
simple: in 9 months, when the Thing was born, Miss Francey would die for her
witchy sins.
And true to their word, they killed my
grandmother not 10 minutes after she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. My
mother would have to grow up without the women who died for her to be born.
Mr. Green wanted nothing to do with the
child, and so the Church sent her away. They named her Mary, for obvious
reasons, and gave her to the orphanage in the next town over. Mary went without
a middle or last name, due to her lack of any family. After all, a witch was by
no means ever considered family.
The orphanage was small and dirty, packed
with far too many children and far too little food. It was strictly for little
girls, as the mixing of boys and girls was to be considered very vulgar. Each
child was given one set of clothing; a simple grey dress, a frayed grey shawl,
grey stockings with holes in them, and worn old grey shoes for the winter.
Every Wednesday was wash day, when all the children would walk down to the
creek behind the orphanage and wash their clothes. Each child was allowed one
meal a day, which was given around noon. A small bowl filled with thin, watery oatmeal,
and a glass of cloudy water. They slept in small rooms filled with rickety
bunk-beds. It was cold at best, freezing at worst, but at least it was
something.
There were very few children that would dare
disobey the women in charge of the orphanage, for fear of being turned out.
Mary was one of the few who got caught up in childhood excitement and did so
many stupid things. She was a troublesome young thing, always causing someone
grief, but everyone more or less liked her. She was just a likeable child, I
suppose.
Mary was 17 when the orphanage burned down,
which killed most everyone. The fire department or whatsoever they called it
then, had much more important things to do than save a bunch of left behind
kids. Mary survived, barely. She never was one to sleep at night, due to random
bouts of insomnia, so she saw the signs of fire much quicker than the rest. For
whatever reason, little Mary had always had an incredible fear of fire. Some
said it was linked to her mother’s death, some said it was because she was a
witch at heart, and some said it was because she was demon spawn. All of these
were, of course, seen as completely ridiculous to Mary. Unfortunately, the fear
was very real. She didn’t spare a single backwards glance to the many, many
children and their horrible fate as she escaped from the burning building,
saving only herself.
Mary was never one to regret her actions, no
matter how foolish or cruel they were. The way she saw it: what was done was
done, there was no sense in hopeless wishing.
She had never been outside of the orphanage,
besides playing in the field behind it. She honestly didn’t even know what lay
beyond the orphanage. Where was she to go?
She started running down the street, with no
real goal in mind. At least she was moving; that was something. She made it a
few blocks before someone stopped her, a very handsome someone dressed in very
fine clothing.
He had dark hair and pale skin; his clothes
made of the finest silk and edged in gold. His eyes were of the clearest,
lightest blue. His smile was honest and full, tinged with amusement that most
likely never left his face, and ringed with concern for the child who he had
run into.
“Child, are you alright? You like rather
frightened.”
My mother, scared senseless by the fire,
barely managed an audible squeak in response. The man chuckled, obviously assuming
she was some wayward farmer’s daughter or something of the sort.
“Why don’t you come with me, yes? I can get
you some food and a nice bed, and then you can offer me some answers. Sound
good?”
Mary, having never been in the presence of a
man, had no idea how to judge honesty. Her decision was made quickly; she had
no place to go, or any idea of what to do. So she nodded her head, and allowed
the stranger to lead her back to his home.
Book of Mirrors
~Part Two~
His name was Philip, and that’s all she was
told. He was a cruel man; always drunk, always abusive. He didn’t care who she
was. Mary fell in love, against her conscience’s best wishes. I, being a young
women who has yet to find love, have no idea why she would fall for a man who
was so horrible, but she did. I suppose it’s a hereditary trait, one I’m glad I
won’t have to worry about.
She lived with him in a small, drab, ugly
little house somewhere on the outskirts of town. He couldn’t keep down a job,
so he kept a meager living thriving off of robbery and thievery. She was happy,
nonetheless. It was a step down from the orphanage, but a step up from living
on the streets, so she didn’t complain.
And then something rather odd happened. She
got pregnant, in the same fashion as her mother. Philip went away for a while,
doing God knows what to earn money. He had been gone for about 6 months when
Mary recognized the early signs of what couldn’t be possible. She laughed at
her foolish thoughts, but remained concerned. Just to ease her mind, she
visited the town midwife. The midwife did far from easy her mind, though.
Mary was pregnant with a child that she never
conceived.
She knew her mother’s story, but had always
just assumed her mother had slept with another man and was too cowardly to
admit it. Though with this newfound knowledge, she had to wonder…had her mother
really been a witch? And, if so, was she herself?
She had never committed to anything witchy,
nor had she even given it much thought, but she did in fact carry witch blood.
She knew there was no way she could hide her pregnancy, and Philip was due to
come back home any day, so she did the only thing she could think to do. She
ran.
She went to the only place that could
possibly have someone who might understand. She went back to the house her
mother once called home. She went to find her sister, Karen.
After spending a few days asking random
people questions, she found the house my aunt currently lived in. It was quint,
upper middle class. It was the picture of how life was supposed to be lived, a
life Mary had been shut out from sense birth.
Nervously ringing the bell, millions of
thoughts ran through her head. She had never met these people, what if they
were horrible? What if she was wrong? What if they didn’t like her? What if
they accused her of being a witch, and put her to death?
“Miss? Can I help you?” In the doorway,
garbed in a white dress, pearls, and small white heels stood a beautiful woman.
She had hair as dark as night, and eyes to match. Her lips where set in a
curious but friendly smile, ruby red against her stark white skin. Not a
wrinkle lined her face, though, by Mary’s calculations, she had to be at least
47.
“Uh, yes! Are you, perchance, Miss Karen
Green?”
“Why, yes, I most certainly am. And you would
be?”
“I…my name is Mary. No middle or last name
graces me, for I have no family.” At my mother’s words, Karen’s smile froze in
place. Her eyes registered shock, and a healthy amount of fear. There was no
question to it; Karen most certainly knew who stood on her door step.
“Yes, yes, of course. I knew you would come
eventually. I am sure you have many questions for me…would you come in?”
Book
of Mirrors
~Part Three~
“So…Mother really was a
witch?” In the span of perhaps an hour, Karen had filled my mother in
completely on everything she had missed. To say Mary’s head was overloading was
an understatement!
“Yes.” Karen responded
with quick and precise words, adding just the faintest sharp edge to everything
she said. She was all business, all the time.
“And she didn’t know
about it?”
“No.”
“So that means…I am a
witch? And you, your one to?”
“Yes, we are both of witch
blood. I myself have embraced Wicca.” At this, my aunt twisted around her hand
to show Mary her wrist. Tattooed onto the skin was a simple pentagram, the mark
of a witch.
“You don’t have to take
this on, you know. You can turn away from your blood; you can turn it down.
That child in you is the result of years of denying your blood informally. It
is nature’s way of making sure your blood goes on, that it won’t die with you.
If you wanted it to die with you, you would have had to formally renounce it.
Sense you failed to do so; the child will absorb every ounce of your witch
ability. The most you can do know is to follow the Wiccan religion. You will
never be the powerful witch you were destined to be.” Karen’s face looked grim
and sad. She truly thought Mary had come because she had realized her blood and
had embraced it. She was disappointed that my mother had failed to figure it
out on her own. By doing this, she would never be the sister Karen had pined
for.
“I…don’t know what I will
do. I have no wish to be a witch of any kind. I am perfectly happy with the
life I live now. Your life and mine have nothing to do with each other, and I
wish it to stay exactly that way.” The words were cruel, but it didn’t faze my
aunt. She knew my mother was simply confused.
Mary stayed with Karen
for the duration of her pregnancy, indulging in a lifestyle completely
different from any she had ever known. Karen was the town’s wise women. She
made her living making natural medicines and cures for the people, acting as
the midwife occasionally, and offering words of wisdom to those who ask it.
Something to the lifestyle seemed…honest. There was always food to eat; the
house was always clean and warm. She had soft, sturdy clothes to wear. When she
felt ill, Karen always had something to make her feel better. It was the kind
of life Mary had always dreamed of. But it didn’t make her happy; it made her
feel as though life was laughing at her choices.
Exactly 9 months after
she had arrived at my aunt’s house, she gave birth to a pretty little baby
girl. It was during the night that she gave birth, during the full moon’s peak.
Karen declared that this baby was a lunar witch, and had potential to be a very
powerful witch indeed. She asked Mary what she wanted to name her child.
“I…don’t care. She is
your child, not mine. I didn’t ask for her, I didn’t want her. She isn’t mine.”
Without a single regret,
my mother left me in the arms of my aunt. She didn’t even care enough to name
me, her only child. She left that night, leaving me behind. She told Karen she
was going back to where she belonged, with the man who loved her.
