The Cursed: Threads of Destiny

Kinara - II

Nighttime adventure, she says to herself as she climbs out her window and onto her mother’s backyard. Although her mother has never specifically said that she disapproved of her leaving the house late at night, she likes taking the window. It may seem mundane and cliché to some, but for her, it is an adventure. An attempt at something is always more exciting than achieving it. Achieving is more about relief that leads to boredom. These are her attempts at an adventure. Even though the adventure meant walking to the river bank and looking at the moon. The thought of it is more depressing than she’d like, because looking at something as beautiful as the moon should not be depressing.

She’d found a spot near the river a few months back that hopefully no one encounters any time soon. She suspects her uncle and Amaya know about her wandering about every other night, but thinks that they are alright with it as long as she doesn’t attract unwanted attention. The limit to which a person can be retrained without disobeying the authorities has been reached, and she thinks they know that. They don’t want to know what she would do if they push her too far, which she finds strange in a funny way, knowing that they can disable her if the need arises.

“No, Jon, I don’t think it’s the tree thing,” she says, rolling her eyes, “How do you go back to it every time?”

Jon, she imagines, shrugs before saying that they can never know. She has heard the argument before, and much to her dismay, it is pretty convincing. He’d said some time last year that if werewolves and vampires and whatnot are real, there is always a chance that the trees are sentient too. But her opinion is that if the trees were indeed sentient, she doesn’t believe they would be so patient with humanity. If she were a sentient tree, she would’ve wiped out humanity a long time ago. Jon agrees but remains suspicious.

It hasn’t been long since he came to this town, maybe a year and half or two. He didn’t like talking to people and, unlike her, it included everyone, not just the recently revealed guests from the underworld. She was suspicious of him the first few times they met because she thought he was one of them, as he vanished whenever someone else appeared. He then told her that he was trained and had to live in places that required that kind of skill. She didn’t pry any further, and he seemed to have forgotten about the incident. She could never quite predict his age properly. He looked so much older with a beard, but just about her age when he shaved.

“Go back to what?” someone asks, jumping from one of the trees to her right. She looks back to find Jon gone, as expected. Coward, she thinks, looking back at the woman in front of her.

“Nothing,” she says, admiring the woman’s metal arm and hand. She looks back at her face, confirming that she had seen her somewhere before. She’d remember that metal arm anywhere, though it’s changed a little now. The parts where the bone would have been are purple now, instead of the blue it had been when she saw her. The rest of the arms are still cream white with golden designs. It’s simple, but beautiful.

“I know I’m pretty, but quit staring,” the woman says, but the expression on her face says that she’s still amused.

“Haven’t we met before?” she asks, looking at her face again.

“Don’t think so,” she says, dusting her pants with her hands, “Would’ve remembered eyes like yours.”

She looks away, so that she can’t see her eyes anymore, with her heart racing, thinking that she had gone into defensive mode, in the moment of surprise. But it didn’t burn her, so she couldn’t have turned. She closes her eyes to see if she can feel the light glowing. When it doesn’t, she frowns again and looks at the woman. Wait—they have met before!

“I saw you,” she says, “At the children’s hospital, couple of months back.”

“Ah!” she says, her eyes lighting up, “Yeah, I did volunteer there. But I don’t think we’ve met.”

“If you say so.”

“Name’s Vivian,” she says, extending her hand. She looks at it hesitantly before shaking it to spare her the embarrassment and keep herself from being rude. The woman hadn’t given her any reason to act in an offensive manner, yet.

“Nice to meet you, Vivian,” she says, feeling her cold hand against her warm one.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” she says, taking her hand back and walking around her to resume her walk.

Vivian stays silent for a second, whether in shock or dislike, she doesn’t turn to see. It was a bad idea to indulge, she thinks, rubbing her chest at the as if to stop her heart from beating with all the dread she feels. She focuses on the sound of the river flowing in a distance to calm her nerves and holds back a groan when she hears the of the woman following her. She wanted to be alone; having someone with her feels like someone is keeping a watch on her, as if her movements are being reported to someone.

Vivian looks older than her, but not by much and she certainly doesn’t seem like a person involved with the rebellion, even with her metal arm and everything. She seems like an environmentalist, searching for a species of frogs or perhaps snakes. She shakes her head to clear her mind. You don’t know anything, she thinks, as she takes a turn and steals a glance at her, Don’t make presumptions on what you see.

“Alright,” Vivian says, “I’ve decided that I’m okay with you not telling me your names even though I told you mine, which does make me wonder, but I suppose that’s for another time.”

She frowns at her words. This can’t be that easy—whatever she has learnt about people, one thing is for certain, it is never that easy.

“Instead,” she continues, “I get to come up with a name for you.”

There it is, she thinks, sighing with amusement swimming in her mind. She goes silent again, but her footsteps change their pace, coming and marching beside her in no time. She can feel Vivian looking at their feet and back at her several time, but she doesn’t say anything. Another turn and I will be there, she thinks, but the relief she left her home with is gone, replaced violently by unfamiliarity and the need to flee.