Writing WIP PT 2
I know not if other worlds exist, but I am told they do.
My mother, when she is around, tells me there are five of these worlds, called ‘realms’, in total, of which I only know their names. (There is my home, Drowning Dreams; “the realm of those-with-seaweed-hair”, and then there are the others, let me think… Ah! There is Boiling Blood; “the realm of griffins”, Iron Will; “the ream of the stubborn”, Mind’s Pen; “the realm of storytellers”, and Rose Gold; “the realm of masked ladies”.) Each of these realms possess their own Heireage (the third-most-prominent family), and each of these Heireages raise the children of the heirs and heiresses (the second-most-prominent).
Within every generation, all Heireages, as my own often reminds me, are held responsible for raising a single child, called the heir or heiress and champion of the Heireage, who will represent their home-realm to, well, something, the question of ‘what’ I have yet to have answered. Likewise, each heiring or heiressing child is to be clever when thinking on the feet, spiritual but tough, and most importantly, to be unafraid of pride for their realm. The more ferocious the pride, the better, they claim.
I reflect often what the other heirs and heiresses might be like, although I know it is against the rules to be friends with any of them. I know it is wrong, but something deep within me stirs whenever the Drowning Dreams’s Heireage tells me something new. I mean, just think of it! Five members of three different species (faeries, griffinborns, and caprabloods) spread across five realms! From what information I have gathered, I am the first to be born of my generation! As much an honor as it is, I am repressed, as only a small fragment of my powers will be allowed until, of course, my mother’s generation has completed their duties, plus twenty-five years to wait for our own turn with the mysterious “duties”. What the duties are, I have asked with no response, and as for what happens to the heirs and heiresses after completing their duties, that question grants me an even greater reward, which is, well, even less of response.
Yet that doesn’t matter. I am quite sure the other heirs and heiresses will find themselves pondering the same question I find myself so often deep in contemplation of, once they are all born. What is every heiring child molded for exactly? What am I, Sanguis, the current heir of the Realm of Drowning Dreams, and what am I to become after decades of the strictest education, followed by the toughest training? Furthermore, why does my Heireage refuse to answer their heir’s questions, if they really find me so important?
Believe me, I wonder this often.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The first memory I can recall, is well, my birthing, an equal mix of both soothing and alarming sensations.
I remember the fees of salty sea’s spray; the bubbling foam as it popped against me. I remember myself crying as waves crashed around me, as the water was, and frankly always has been and always will be, rather frigidly harsh for both scales and skin.
Yet all such sensations fail in comparison to my favored of my first memories; my mother’s loving presence. Cradling me in her arms while singing Siren-Songs to me, hushing me in gentle murmurs as she carefully brushed my hair of golden seaweed with her long nails, and nursing me the first taste I had experienced since inside the egg.
As for when my eyes could open? Oho, everything became overwhelming, but still interesting.
The emerald green of my mother’s adoring eyes, the zaffre-blue of her long, seaweed hair, and the ashen- grey of her scales. I only had to turn my head for more. I truly wish I hadn’t, and that my duties had been delayed a moment longer. I regret often, my inquisitiveness that existed even then. If only, I tell you, I had been allowed one more tender moment with her, my mother.
As soon as I observed my home, the towering kastilyo I was to be kept in for the next eight years, a chill rang up my spine. My mother sighed heavily, and I noticed then, the weary expression on her face. No, not just weary, exhausted, even. She smiled down at me softly, once more, before handing me to a member of the Heireage, one whose daughter I would grow familiar with one I was older. She was Mrs. Malme Chetrigg, the one who had raised my mother when my grandmother had fulfilled her duties and vanished. I soon found out, Alsiss Chetrigg, her then eleven-year-old daughter, would raise me when only a slightly different fate would befall my mother.
Mrs. Chetrigg placed me in Alsiss’s arms, and smiled at her. They began to whisper to each other; in a dialect I still am yet to understand. I remember gazing up at Alsiss for the first time, her curious gaze at me, as she began to check me over. She pulled back my teeth, felt my scales, and prodded my muscles, before nodding to my mother. I will never forget my mother’s face, her reptilian eyes staring after me, as I was taken away, not to see her again for a while.
My mother, when she is around, tells me there are five of these worlds, called ‘realms’, in total, of which I only know their names. (There is my home, Drowning Dreams; “the realm of those-with-seaweed-hair”, and then there are the others, let me think… Ah! There is Boiling Blood; “the realm of griffins”, Iron Will; “the ream of the stubborn”, Mind’s Pen; “the realm of storytellers”, and Rose Gold; “the realm of masked ladies”.) Each of these realms possess their own Heireage (the third-most-prominent family), and each of these Heireages raise the children of the heirs and heiresses (the second-most-prominent).
Within every generation, all Heireages, as my own often reminds me, are held responsible for raising a single child, called the heir or heiress and champion of the Heireage, who will represent their home-realm to, well, something, the question of ‘what’ I have yet to have answered. Likewise, each heiring or heiressing child is to be clever when thinking on the feet, spiritual but tough, and most importantly, to be unafraid of pride for their realm. The more ferocious the pride, the better, they claim.
I reflect often what the other heirs and heiresses might be like, although I know it is against the rules to be friends with any of them. I know it is wrong, but something deep within me stirs whenever the Drowning Dreams’s Heireage tells me something new. I mean, just think of it! Five members of three different species (faeries, griffinborns, and caprabloods) spread across five realms! From what information I have gathered, I am the first to be born of my generation! As much an honor as it is, I am repressed, as only a small fragment of my powers will be allowed until, of course, my mother’s generation has completed their duties, plus twenty-five years to wait for our own turn with the mysterious “duties”. What the duties are, I have asked with no response, and as for what happens to the heirs and heiresses after completing their duties, that question grants me an even greater reward, which is, well, even less of response.
Yet that doesn’t matter. I am quite sure the other heirs and heiresses will find themselves pondering the same question I find myself so often deep in contemplation of, once they are all born. What is every heiring child molded for exactly? What am I, Sanguis, the current heir of the Realm of Drowning Dreams, and what am I to become after decades of the strictest education, followed by the toughest training? Furthermore, why does my Heireage refuse to answer their heir’s questions, if they really find me so important?
Believe me, I wonder this often.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The first memory I can recall, is well, my birthing, an equal mix of both soothing and alarming sensations.
I remember the fees of salty sea’s spray; the bubbling foam as it popped against me. I remember myself crying as waves crashed around me, as the water was, and frankly always has been and always will be, rather frigidly harsh for both scales and skin.
Yet all such sensations fail in comparison to my favored of my first memories; my mother’s loving presence. Cradling me in her arms while singing Siren-Songs to me, hushing me in gentle murmurs as she carefully brushed my hair of golden seaweed with her long nails, and nursing me the first taste I had experienced since inside the egg.
As for when my eyes could open? Oho, everything became overwhelming, but still interesting.
The emerald green of my mother’s adoring eyes, the zaffre-blue of her long, seaweed hair, and the ashen- grey of her scales. I only had to turn my head for more. I truly wish I hadn’t, and that my duties had been delayed a moment longer. I regret often, my inquisitiveness that existed even then. If only, I tell you, I had been allowed one more tender moment with her, my mother.
As soon as I observed my home, the towering kastilyo I was to be kept in for the next eight years, a chill rang up my spine. My mother sighed heavily, and I noticed then, the weary expression on her face. No, not just weary, exhausted, even. She smiled down at me softly, once more, before handing me to a member of the Heireage, one whose daughter I would grow familiar with one I was older. She was Mrs. Malme Chetrigg, the one who had raised my mother when my grandmother had fulfilled her duties and vanished. I soon found out, Alsiss Chetrigg, her then eleven-year-old daughter, would raise me when only a slightly different fate would befall my mother.
Mrs. Chetrigg placed me in Alsiss’s arms, and smiled at her. They began to whisper to each other; in a dialect I still am yet to understand. I remember gazing up at Alsiss for the first time, her curious gaze at me, as she began to check me over. She pulled back my teeth, felt my scales, and prodded my muscles, before nodding to my mother. I will never forget my mother’s face, her reptilian eyes staring after me, as I was taken away, not to see her again for a while.
