Memoria's Chronicles; First Entry
1167 Words
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THE UNSEEN CHRONICLES OF MEMORIA
Found in the wreckage of old Xal'Therun
Dated 500 Astral Turns ago
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"Dear Memoria,
I have been running from the world for as long as I can remember. Could you ask me where I belong?
Go on, ask away... Aren't you curious?
Oh right. You can't ask... never mind that though, I'll ask for you.
If you had asked me where I belong, I’d say... quickly built wooden houses tucked deep in the woods, the creaking decks of nameless ships, the hush of places passed through rather than lived in, the shifting sands of the coast... places that never held us for long. Always moving. Always watching our backs.
Fleeting, unmarked, unseen.
I have never been allowed to stare at a person long enough to memorize and remember the lines of their face, never been allowed to speak to another who was not of my blood, never been able to stay long enough to discover and realize who I truly am.
What a life that’s been... If that's even a life.
At first, I thought that was how the world worked. That all people lived this way... without roots, without homes, ghosts in a world that refused to claim them.
Drifting, unrooted, forgettable.
My parents never told me why. They never whispered the truth, only rules, only warnings... My father's scolding was always the same.
"Child, we're trying to keep you safe."
"Child, please be understanding."
"Child, it is a dangerous world we live in."
"Child! Child! Child!"
And my mother... softer, but much firmer... would kneel behind me, tucking my hair beneath thick scarves, hiding the very thing that set me apart.
"My little one, keep your hair covered at all times... we do not need the attention."
"My little one, stay quiet. It is for the best."
"My little one, stick to us at all times."
"My little one! My little one! My little one!"
As if saying it enough times could keep me from wanting more.
They made me small. Taught me to be small. Ensured I did only small things. But the world is not small. And I want to be large. I want to let my hair fall free in the wind, let the sun catch the red that they fear.
Would that be so terrible, Memoria?
To simply exist as I am? Or is there something lurking in my reflection that even I have yet to see?
Ah! I didn't realize I'd given you a name. Memoria. It sounds like a grand name for a friend.
And you, dear Memoria, were almost stolen before you were given to me. It was in a town I will never see again. We had stopped only for the night, and by dawn, we would be nothing more than traveling strangers.
My father had left in search of boring things and whatevers, my mother had taken me to the market for us to swiftly and hushedly buy food and other supplies. As usual she'd told me...
"Stay behind me and stay close. Bend your head and lower your eyes." But that had rarely worked, I was never one to wait quietly.
I slipped away, weaving through the press of traders and travelers, my fingers trailing over silk and clay pots, the world a blur of voices and colors.
That was when I saw it.
A small wooden stall, its wares spread carelessly across a sun-bleached cloth... ink pots, quills, books stacked haphazardly, their spines cracked from use.
And behind the stall? The bookseller himself, slumped against a post, in a deep and careless sleep. The kind of sleep only an expert at avoiding work can achieve.
His head was tilted back, mouth hanging open, catching flies like it was a personal hobby. He was snoring... loudly, as if he had no shame.
I knew better than to linger. But I did.
My fingers brushed the cover of one book, bound in leather, edges softened with age. I could have taken it. No one was watching. The weight of it in my hands was real, solid. A thing that could be mine, just for a moment.
I should have stayed by my mother’s side yet, here I was staring at a merchant’s table, fingers itching when I felt a presence beside me.
Then a voice... "You are searching for something."
Her voice was low, threaded with something strange... something knowing.
I turned, expecting to find a merchant, or villager... someone that might perhaps accuse me of the thievery I was attempting. But no...
Not a merchant. Not a villager. Someone else.
She was cloaked in layers of deep blue, her face nearly lost in the folds of her hood. She must simply be another traveler.
I should have turned away. Should have ignored her, the way I had been taught. But instead, I met her gaze. The glint of her dark eyes beneath the hood was unsettling, like the shimmer of water in a deep well.
I had no answer for her. But she did not seem to expect one. She simply reached into her cloak and pressed a small leather-bound book into my hands.
"A gift," she murmured. "For a girl who carries questions she cannot yet ask."
I turned the book over in my hands, the leather warm, as if it had been waiting for me all along.
I parted my lips to speak, to ask her what she meant... but before I could form words, a sharp tug yanked me backward.
"There you are!" My mother’s voice, clipped and urgent, her fingers wrapping tight around my wrist. "How many times have I told you not to wander?"
I tried to protest, but she was already pulling me away, her grip firm, her pace quick. I turned my head, searching the crowd, searching for the woman...
She was gone.
And yet... you, dear Memoria, were still in my hands.
I should have dropped you. Should have let you fall before my mother could notice. But she never did because my fingers closed around you, slipping you beneath my shawl as easily as a breath.
I might not know much of the world but I know this... I was never meant to leave traces of myself in the world. And yet, you found your way to me. Now you are mine, and I will fill your pages so that even if I vanish in this long, tedious journey... some part of me will remain.
Forgive me, Memoria, but I must leave you now. My mother will soon wonder why I am taking so long at the stream. Do not be afraid, I will keep you safe from eyes that are not mine.
They must have taught me to read and write the people's language for a reason. I must put those skills to good use.
In the meantime, I will do what I know how to do best... drift through life.
Thank you, and goodbye, my friend."
~R~
- Writer
