Chapter Text
For as long as I can remember, I have only wanted one thing in life: true, unconditional love. Romantic, familial, or friendship - it didn't matter; I was desperate to be loved in any way possible. In the fairy tales I was read as a child, true love was depicted as being treasured, seen, accepted, and adored by someone who expects nothing but the same love in return. Growing up taught me that in real life, love is far more complicated than that.
In my earliest memories, I recall being surrounded by a large family that showered me in love. My father worked a respectable job as a stonecutter while my mother stayed at home and took care of me. Those days were blissfully quiet and ended without warning. I was playing with my toys one moment, only to be abruptly whisked away from everything I had known in the next.
The turbulent rapids that separated the barren, rocky islands of Urak and the bustling, fertile land of Unsha were the main reason that the journey was so dangerous, hence the high price. Once we arrived and successfully crossed the border, we were escorted to a large inn where we met our creditor, Mr. Hallighan. My parents had acquired a large debt to him in securing our safe voyage, and he told us that in exchange for his sponsorship, we would be required to work as his employees until we earned enough to pay it off.
I later learned that my grandfather had gambled away all his money and then some, and that the men he had given away our family home to save himself from the loansharks he’d gotten involved with. It was difficult to imagine the caring grandfather that I’d known as the man my parents described, but left without any other explanation, I had to accept it as truth. My mother assured me that he still loved us very much, but I heard my father mumble under his breath, “Someone who loves his family would never put them in danger.” I held my tongue, but silently took that lesson and etched the words into my heart, promising myself that when I found love, I would not only never put them in danger but also keep them safe.
On my ninth birthday, I made the mistake of confessing my dreams of one day leaving the nest to live a life with a family of my own. The atmosphere around our dining table shifted the moment the words left my mouth. My mother wept bitter tears that nearly stung as much as the handprint left on my cheek. That night, as my father berated me for my selfishness, I learned that their ‘love’ would be revoked if I dared to leave the nest. I couldn’t comprehend the idea of choosing one family over another. Was that how it was done in this new country? No, perhaps they hadn’t been capable of ‘loving’ me from the moment we set foot on Unsha’s shores. It was not the true love that I yearned for, but still, it was all I had. The pressure of debt had ruined our family once, and I refused to watch it happen again. That was why I put my all into working at the tavern as soon as I was old enough to do so. My parents showered me with praise and affection each time I proudly presented them with the copper coins I earned, however meager and few they were. I told myself it was enough, but deep down I knew it wasn’t true, not when their ‘love’ depended on how useful I could be.
As a child, my tasks consisted of sweeping and keeping things clean, but my assignments evolved along with my age. While I had previously been hidden from public view, on my sixteenth birthday, Mr. Hallighan began tasking me with more socially interactive duties. The sudden change from being a maid to becoming a waitress was jarring, as I was given little time to prepare before being thrown into the drunken cesspit of the tavern bar. I was given two days to learn how to mix drinks, take orders, and effectively smile to placate customers who needed to be cut off from any more alcohol. My training was useful when it came to defusing men who wanted more liquor, but I was never taught what to do if the customer wanted something else. I was usually able to escape by playfully swatting their hand away while laughing it off, keeping a jovial atmosphere to soothe the sting of rejection that I could see in their eyes. The other waitresses told me I was ‘lucky’ to have been spared so many times, but I didn’t understand what they meant until that luck ran out.
Mr. Hallighan hired a large man named Pierre to guard the tavern entrance and told me that I would be safe so long as I stayed in his sight. Despite being intimidated at first, we built a rapport with each other over time that felt comfortable and easy. He stopped the more aggressive drunks from getting handsy, and I occasionally brought him drinks, snacks, and conversation when the opportunity presented itself. I began to look forward to my shifts, solely because I knew I’d get to see him. His presence put me at ease and brought me comfort, knowing he had my back. Finally, I thought that I’d cultivated the ‘platonic love’ that I hadn’t realized I was craving. It was a beautiful illusion, but one that shattered quickly, the shards of betrayal cutting deep.
The first time was the worst. He had insisted on escorting me outside to dispose of the empty beer bottles, something that he’d never done before, but I had no reason to refuse the extra protection or think he had any ulterior motives. It was there, against the brick wall of the snicket, that he introduced me to a sweaty, rough, painful form of ‘love’. After he was finished ‘loving’ me, he refastened his trousers and left me with a silver coin. I trembled, in shock, unmoving on the cold ground for hours as I tried and failed to process what had just happened to me. The man meant to protect me- no, my ‘friend’ had robbed me of my purity.
When I finally managed to pull myself together enough to re-enter the tavern, my blood ran cold at the sight of Pierre laughing and chatting with another waitress. He looked like he was having the time of his life, as if nothing was wrong- as if he hadn’t just ruined me. For a brief moment, I felt a burning anger bubble up inside my chest, but the ice-cold fear that soaked into my chest when Pierre’s eyes met mine was enough to discourage me from approaching them. The smugness that radiated off him as he stared me down made my stomach roll with nausea, and my heart feel as if it was going to break in two. Why did he look so pleased with himself? Was he proud of how he’d tricked me into trusting him, playing me for a fool? Had he been planning to do that to me from the beginning?
Later that night, as I cried into my mother’s arms, thighs bruised, aching, and sticky with shame, I begged her to tell me what I should do. Gently rubbing small circles into my back, she told me something I’d carry with me for the rest of my life. “Love takes many shapes, sometimes it can feel like bliss, and other times it can feel like hell. As women, we must endure all of them to survive. I’m so sorry, starlight, I wish it wasn’t so.” What a horrible thing to say. My head felt as though it was surrounded by cotton as she guided me to the bath and helped clean me up. My father returned home a few hours later, and after taking one look at the shiny silver coin Pierre gave me, he praised me for my ‘hard work’, as if I had somehow done something good by being taken advantage of. Granted, a silver coin was worth almost a full month of my usual salary, but I had no interest in ever intentionally experiencing that ‘love’ again, no matter the cost.
After that night, Pierre did nothing to stop the drunk men from forcing their ‘love’ upon me, as if I’d lost the right to his protection after he’d had his fun with me. It was humiliating, disgusting, and left me feeling ashamed and defiled every time. I was too afraid to speak up, paralyzed by the fear that speaking up would anger my father or get me replaced. That was why whenever a new pair of wandering hands slid up my skirt, I chose to close my eyes and let my mind drift away until it was over, while simultaneously trying to cling to the small shard of my heart that knew this ‘love’ was wrong. Still, it wasn’t long before I began to feel empty and numb. Eventually, my stomach stopped twisting, and my skin stopped crawling, and being subjected to their ‘love’ became an unofficial part of my duties. None of the other waitresses spoke up or attempted to help me. Why would they? No one ever spoke up when it happened to them. Why should I be any different? I had acquired the same dead look in my eyes that they had and finally understood why they once looked at me with such jealousy and disdain. For many years, I believed I would never feel safe again, but everything changed the day she entered my life.
It was a night not unlike any other, until, without warning, the harsh sound of a slap brought the typically bustling tavern to a screeching halt. For a few moments, everyone in the tavern was frozen, as if no one could believe what they’d just witnessed. A woman, trembling with what I’d first assumed was fear, had grabbed the wrist of the customer I had been serving, halting his hand inches away from my sides as her other hand struck him across the face, leaving a bright red mark that lingered on his cheek. I wondered if the other girls also felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the bewildered expression on his face that slowly shifted into a flushed look of humiliation as he realized he’d been struck by a woman. My short-lived amusement melted into dread as the customer erupted with rage and yanked his wrist free from the strange woman’s grip and raised his fist to strike her back. Halting his swing midair, one of the two men who had been flanking her on both sides intercepted him and violently slammed his body against the table, twisting his arm behind his back, restraining him, and breaking the spell that the rest of the guests had been under.
The tavern devolved into chaos as she ordered her guards to toss the man out onto the streets, some customers shouting indignant protests in his defense, while others gossiped with glee at what his expulsion from the bar might mean. The only person who had ever stopped the advances from men towards the waitresses was Pierre, although he had long since abandoned that duty and was nowhere in sight. By preventing that man from doing as he pleased, this mysterious woman and her guards completely disrupted the status quo. The passionate blaze in her eyes and fury in her tone as she defended me awakened something dormant in my soul, and it could not be undone. I didn't understand at first, but I’d later discover it was yet another type of ‘love’, this time being one born from admiration. She was like a force of nature, her auburn hair looking more disheveled by the minute as she unleashed her righteous wrath upon the drunk men who dared to stand up in defense of the man she’d had thrown out. My eyes were drawn to the way her eye twitched, and her hands curled into fists. Her face twisted in what almost looked like shame, but I pushed that thought away. What would she need to feel ashamed of?
Before I could think any further about that, she glanced down at me, and I looked away as quickly as I could, flushed with embarrassment at being caught staring. To my surprise, she clearly had no intention of allowing me to spiral into my thoughts and forcefully turned my head so that I had no choice but to look directly into the beautiful green eyes of my savior. She gently cradled my cheeks with both hands, as if I was something delicate and precious, and I couldn’t fathom why her expression was so full of concern as she pulled out a handkerchief and began to softly dab at the tears I hadn’t realized I had been shedding.
“Are you alright, dear?” The switch in attitude threw me off guard, her sweet tone of voice sending a shiver up my spine, especially after witnessing how much venom her voice could carry only moments earlier. She was right in front of me, but my mind was so overwhelmed by the situation that I barely registered the rest of her face, only managing to force out a strained, “Yes, t-thank you…”. She seemed to understand and didn’t force me to speak any further. The last person to treat me with such care had been faking it to lead me into a false sense of security, which was why I flinched away so violently when her soft fingers gently tilted up my chin. Her eyebrows furrowed as I pulled away from her touch, and it hurt to see how upset she looked when I refused her kindness, the pity and guilt in her eyes feeling almost unbearable.
She only looked away from me when Mr. Hallighan rushed out of the kitchen, visibly annoyed and searching for who was to blame for making such a fuss. His face paled the instant he recognized the family crest on the handkerchief that she had pressed into my hands before she turned around to direct her attention towards him. Livid, she demanded to know why all the staff and customers had stood by and done nothing as I was ‘assaulted’. I’d never heard it described that way before, but that word fit the act much better than ‘love’ ever did. He clutched his hands together and tried to dismiss the incident as an outlier, but she was far too wise to fall for such an obvious lie. The other guests had already given away the true standard while arguing with her. Mr. Hallighan looked more horrified to hear that his customers had been talking back to her than he did at the prospect of my assault, and began to apologize profusely on their behalf, begging for her forgiveness.
“Please, Miss. Caritene, they don’t understand! Education in our town is underfunded, and only those with the coin to pay for it are taught to recognize the noble family crests!” The instant the name left his mouth, it was as if the air had been stolen from everyone’s lungs, struck speechless with sheer terror at the revelation of what family she belonged to. No one uttered a word after that, everyone standing completely still, frozen like statues as she scolded Mr. Hallighan like he was a child. I realized that her family had to hold a lot of influence over our town for everyone to placate her and agree to her demands, despite the public humiliation she put them through. I would later be told that the Caritenes were the aristocratic family that ruled over the area of Unsha that our small town was a part of.
From that day on, I no longer had to accept any ‘love’ that men wished to share with me. None of the waitresses did. Pierce disappeared overnight, replaced by someone who took his job seriously and didn’t need to be bribed into caring for our well-being by snacks or drinks. I found that I was able to sleep at night again, clutching the handkerchief she’d forgotten to take back before leaving, and knowing I owed my newfound safety to her. Whenever the nightmares of slimy, unwanted touches would come, she would appear before me, like a guardian sent from God, and chase them away.
I thought that I would never see her again. After all, why would she come back to the small-town tavern that had made her so upset? Imagine my surprise when she began visiting the bar enough to be called a regular. Instead of the plain dress she’d worn on her first visit- she later explained she’d worn it to avoid being recognized- she now wore fancy yellow dresses, each thread in its fabric looking more expensive than all the alcohol in the tavern combined. Strangely enough, she rarely ordered anything to drink. Instead, she came with the sole purpose of speaking with me, insisting that I call her ‘Emelia’ because being addressed as Miss. Caritene made her feel like an old woman. It felt odd to call someone of her status by her first name, but who was I to deny her what she wanted?
I was nervous at first, but her charming nature and friendly demeanor slowly dispelled my anxieties. She talked to me so casually, as if our respective social standings didn’t separate us into two different worlds. She told me of her family, how their wealth and her upbringing had made her feel alienated from higher society. In return, I told her about the debt my family acquired to escape our homeland, what we had to sacrifice to survive, and the people we had to leave behind. Typically, I would have been scolded for wasting so much time with one customer during work, but Emelia was an exception yet again. Every rule she encountered seemed to bend to her will, made even more impressive by the confident smile she had while doing it. Talking to her felt so easy, as if I had known her my entire life, but the stubborn voice of insecurity never left my mind. Why would a lady born into an aristocratic society come down to the slums every other day to befriend a woman like me? I couldn’t bring myself to ask, too afraid that she’d realize how insignificant I was and leave me behind.
Sometimes Emelia would visit during the day, before the men got off work, bringing me some of her favorite books that she encouraged me to read. She was horrified to discover that I hadn’t been taught how to read and write, aside from the basics required to take orders and fulfill my duties at the tavern. A month later, Emelia walked through the doors with a young man at her side, grinning ear to ear. My stomach dropped as a chill shot down my spine at the sight of their fingers interlocked. An awful feeling of bitterness seeped into my skin at the thought of Emelia introducing me to her fiancé. I fought to keep myself from frowning, but Emelia was always too smart to be fooled by a fake smile. She introduced the man as her cousin and, with a soft smile that made her look like she knew something I didn’t, placed her hands on my shoulders as she explained that she had cashed in a favor to have him agree to become my part-time tutor. I felt a rush of conflicting emotions, embarrassment, guilt, and relief being the most prominent among them all. The tips of my ears burned as she laughed, and I realized in that moment that my shame was worth it if it resulted in another opportunity to hear that wonderful sound.
Emelia’s cousin was thorough and relentless, pointing out the most minute mistakes, as if I were preparing for some sort of test. I wasn’t sure how Emelia persuaded Mr. Hallighan into agreeing to that arrangement, but it was clear he didn’t like it, as it took a lot of my time and energy to learn how to read, not to mention things like history, arithmetic, and etiquette. He especially hated it when the tutor would drop by during my shifts, as he would be forced to allow me to abandon my duties in favor of this spontaneous education. Due to a lack of a set schedule, I had to be prepared to drop everything the moment he came by. It took me almost two years of dedication and continuous effort to master his lessons, but the smile on Emelia’s face when I read a passage from her favorite book out loud, simultaneously holding proper posture and poise, made it all worth it. In my eyes, she shone like the sun, blazing, bright, and brilliant. I couldn’t look away, especially when she looked right back.
On the third anniversary of the day Emelia and I met, Mr. Hallighan announced that someone had anonymously paid my family's debt in full. We were free. I was free. She never admitted it, but I knew it was her doing. Who else could have afforded to pay such a large lump sum? Mr. Hallighan had been adding the cost of our room and food to our debt ever since we arrived, so the odds of us paying it all off were almost impossible at the rate we were going. Emelia was the only one who had both the coin and the motivation to set us free.
Once I was free of my responsibility to my family, I left the tavern behind for good. Emelia found me a job as a bookkeeper in her family manor. It was a clear upgrade from my last employer. The servants' quarters were warm, the beds were soft, and the doors to the women's sleeping chambers had a lock. Not only had I been given a safe place to live, but it was also only a few halls down from the woman I now knew I loved.
The close proximity between us was both a blessing and a curse. I was able to see different sides of Emelia, ones that she kept bottled up when out in public. She preferred wearing loose dresses over the extravagant gowns that she was expected to put on when leaving the manor. She enjoyed lazing around the library and had a habit of skipping her lessons to attend various events in the market. Learning her habits and eccentricities was a privilege that I secretly prayed no one else would be allowed to experience. The love I held for her slowly began to transform until my entire being started to ache for her in ways I’d never felt before.
I wanted to hold her, to be held by her, to merge into one being so that we might never be parted again. Shame coiled in my heart. I knew it was wrong. I was becoming far too greedy. Emelia had already given me so much more than I could have ever asked for, but I couldn't stop myself from craving and consuming every crumb of her time and attention. Every moment with her felt like bliss, while every second without her felt like hell. I prayed for forgiveness, begging God to rid me of these awful feelings that I knew were a broken, obsessive, twisted form of love.
I tried to bottle up my ugly emotions and force them deep down where they'd never see the light of day. Alas, it could only stay buried for so long before the pressure burst. After admiring her and holding myself back for so long, I couldn't take it anymore. It all came pouring out. She had taken me to see the stars from the balcony of a lighthouse she visited often as a child, and the sight of joy sparkling in her eyes under the moonlight was the final straw. My lips quivered as I gripped the metal safety rail as if squeezing it would help me squeeze out the words that had felt trapped inside me. She turned to look at me, and my heart broke as her smile fell and she reached out to put her hand on mine as she asked if I was alright. Before I knew it, I had already begun to pour my heart out. I told her how much I adored her, how her voice brought me comfort, how her touch brought me peace. I confessed how she meant the world to me, and I would have given up anything for just one moment where she looked at me the way I did at her. I would have sold my soul if I knew that it meant she would see me and recognize how absolutely hopelessly in love I was with her. Not the fake kind of love that we’d both experienced- no, the real, true kind of love that consumed me from the inside to the point that I felt my world would end if I ever left her side. The words wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t make myself shut up, and I knew that it was already far too late. I had said too much, and surely, she would be disgusted at how I felt.
I thought she would hate me, but to my astonishment, her tender hands took hold of mine, and she smiled. She pulled me into her arms and allowed me to melt into her embrace. It felt incredible. Every cell in my body felt alive. As she pressed her lips to mine, it was as if the world finally came into focus. In that moment, I realized that Emelia was an angel sent by the Lord to bring me clarity. How could this wonderful feeling I have with her be wrong? With one kiss, she changed the rules of my world, and I knew in that moment that she would bring me endless happiness and agonizing pain, for every ‘love’ I’ve ever had felt like playing with fire. Still, I believed that the bliss of her hands intertwined with mine would be worth any suffering in the end.
Emelia’s station came with expectations that I did not fully understand when I gave her my heart. Men hounded her at every fancy dinner she went to, and her parents' increased pressure for her to choose a husband weighed heavily upon her shoulders. They wanted her to provide them with an heir as soon as possible, as if that was the only value she had as their only daughter. Watching her wilt under their constant criticism and disappointment over the years filled me with an anger that I struggled to control.
There were many sleepless nights that I spent wondering what our lives would have been like if only I had been born a man. Would her parents have accepted a lowborn man from the streets as a husband for their perfect daughter? No, I knew they wouldn’t. Even if I could give her a child, all they would see is the stain of commoners’ blood in its veins. Still, I tried not to let it affect me. After all, no matter how many men postured themselves before her, she always returned to my arms at the end of the night. I was hers, and she was mine, and that was all that mattered to me.
After almost four years of watching Emelia slowly drown under the constant waterfall of impossible expectations, we both reached our breaking point. Neither of us could continue pretending that we could survive in this environment. I grabbed her hands, squeezed them tight, and looked deep into her precious eyes. My heart almost broke as I realized the defiant spark they once held had nearly been extinguished. All that remained of the woman who had saved my life were dying embers, and something within me knew that if I didn’t act now, she could be lost to me forever. Lips quivering, I kissed her. Soft, barely a peck, but I told myself it brought her back to me.
“Let’s leave.”
The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of the words that left my tongue. It was an impulsive idea, but before I could give it more thought, Emelia’s lips curled up into a weak smile. In an act of willful ignorance that I would regret until my final breath, I pretended not to notice that it didn’t reach her eyes. She nodded slowly, her voice trembling as she spoke.
“You’re right… I can’t take this anymore, can I?”
Hope erupted like a geyser, flooding into my entire body, impairing my reason even further. I desperately wanted to believe that she would run away with me, so I chose to ignore the hollow expression she wore as we parted ways to pack what we could from our respective rooms. I would never see her real smile again.
Once I was finished stuffing as much as I could carry inside the small burlap laundry sack that the servants were given, I waited for her in the garden, where we had agreed to meet. I stood there for hours, shifting nervously as dread began to pool in my gut, realizing something must be wrong. Had she been caught? Did her parents discover we were planning to flee? Swallowing my fears, I ventured back inside the manor to search for her. Instead of Emelia, I found the burlap sack I’d given her lying empty on her neatly made bed. Everything in her room looked normal. Too normal for someone who planned to escape and too normal for someone who had been interrupted while packing in a hurry. All her things were still in place, untouched, as if she intended to abandon it all outright and start over fresh. During my search of the room, a folded piece of paper on her pillow caught my eye. The paper looked expensive, most likely torn from one of the many stationaries sets she received from potential suitors, but Emelia rarely used them. Confused, I reached down to pick it up and read it. Why would Emelia take the time to write a letter when we were planning to escape? The world came screeching to a halt as twenty-two words, shakily written in ink, destroyed me.
Tear stains smudged the text. Hers or mine? Did it matter? Maybe she had been at her limit longer than I thought. What did I do to send her over the edge? Anguish threatened to drown me as my chest tightened and my mind ran wild, racing with all the things I could have done differently:
If I had suggested waiting until the morning to leave…
If I had gone with her to pack…
If I had suggested escaping sooner…
If I never suggested it at all…
If I had rejected her job offer…
If I hadn't learned to read her favorite books…
If I had stayed at the bar…
If I refused her friendship…
If I had enthusiastically allowed the man to touch…
If I had never met her…
Could I have prevented this?
It takes me mere moments to think of where she might be. My Emelia loved many things: the sun, stars, the ocean, and me. There could be only one place, the lighthouse, where we shared our first moments of passion. Breathless, I discarded my burlap sack and ran outside as fast as I could. No public carriage would take her there this late, and her family’s horses had already been locked in the stables. If she intended to get there on foot, perhaps I wouldn’t be too far behind. I begged God once again, pleading with him to help me arrive before my angel could return to him. My lungs burned with the strain that came with overexertion, but adrenaline numbed the pain. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. It was too presumptuous to assume Emelia would stay by my side forever, but I never imagined that this would be how she vanished from my life.
I arrived at the lighthouse just in time to see her fall, and far too late for anything else to matter. I didn't know how to swim, but the water was shallow enough for me to trudge through in a crazed attempt to pull her out of the sea. My breathing felt increasingly labored as I struggled against the waves, the adrenaline fading away and being replaced by an overwhelming dread that threatened to choke me. The blood in my veins turns to ice. Her neck was bent, and her once beautiful hair was soaked in the worst, most disgustingly awful shade of red. I couldn’t bring myself to touch her, so I sat frozen in the bloody water beside her. She was gone. I wasn’t stupid; I knew that no human could survive a fall from that height, and Emelia had left her wings behind up on the balcony. She left me behind, too. By the time the lighthouse guard found us, my feet were numb, and my eyes were dry, and the red had soaked so deeply into my dress that no amount of soap could ever get it out.
I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I don’t know how I got out of the water, much less to an asylum halfway across the country. I overheard gossip whispered under the breath of nurses, who believed my mind remained too muddled to understand, that Emelia’s parents were the ones who paid the monthly fee to keep me here. I wonder if they miss her as much as I do. Perhaps this is their way of trying to make things right. Maybe keeping me ‘safe’ is a way for them to ease the guilt of driving their daughter to suicide. They may have looked the other way, but there was no way they hadn’t noticed the way we looked at each other. They must have known. They knew, and they still kept pushing. I’ll never forgive them for that, just as I’ll never forgive myself for giving her the idea of ‘leaving’ in the first place. But most of all, I will never forgive her for abandoning me and robbing me of a ‘love’ that I cherished so deeply. Looking back on my life, I never found the ‘true love’ that I yearned for as a child, and I think I can be okay with that. After all, if losing a ‘love’ that isn’t true hurts this badly… Maybe ‘love’ isn’t worth having at all.