They told me to continue my mission. I didn’t.
They told me that I succeeded in my previous one. You. That it was completed. You were born, you drew breath, and you lived. They said it was no longer necessary. You are my child, my daughter! Not an it and certainly not something to discard or forget. . . .
It was terrifying to be taken from you. They had dragged me . . . your father and grandfather earned new scars that day in my defense. . . . In the end I went with the drow I belonged to, so you could still have a safe home in Winterhaven and a family to love and look after you
They told me to stay away from him, my Sammy, your father. They told me to stay away from you, until you are of age. I failed. But only because when I left, my body went forward, but my heart stayed behind. They said you would distract me. They were right. Said you would cloud my judgment. In that they were wrong. My purpose has never been clearer.
My masked god is dead, replaced by his sister, the girl with no backbone. I call her no lady. And so began my dangerous road of defiance . . .
I’ve never been very good at following logic or orders when told point blank that lives do not matter. You do matter Cherish.
I was told to dull my senses and focus on the next task at hand. What task? Lolth has won. We are defeated and scattered. There is no place for us in Corellen’s lands. And I am a heretic in Lolth’s realm
Keep distance. Never stay long. These are what I tell myself whenever I visit your town. To keep it and you safe I must never linger. They know how to strike my heart, but they won’t, because you are it, baby girl, and they need you.
You are the best part of me and your father too. Sammy has built you a nice home. He always loves wood. The stone he added was for my benefit. The house is beautiful.
Looking in the window my heart drums. The picture before me is warm, cozy. Sammy is reading you a story. And I feel you respond to him. “And the rose of this town blooms even in the dead of winter. Her petals are soft and delicate, but her stem is hardy and her thorns are sharp. Winds cannot blow her down, nor can the snow make her wilt.”
You feel joy at the pride in his voice. And I feel a dull ache in my chest when I see you physically reach for the book to happily beat it with your tiny fist and palm when Samuel points to my picture. “Who is that?” he coos to you.
“Mummummumum mmmmmuuuum mum mum mum.” It sounds like gibberish but your happy baby scream and giggle is sharply heard even through the paned glass. I touch it as if my handprint would forever remain there.
Sammy replies to you, gently kissing the top of your head and nuzzling your hair, a carbon copy of my own with his nose “That’s right my lil firefly. It’s mommy. Or should I call you my little seedling so you grow up strong and beautiful like her, yes?
Your grin so wide at him, and he chuckles, “Yes. Yeeeees!”
You go to grab his scuffy cheek and he leans in so you grab his nose instead and you both laugh the same happy laugh . . . and I feel warm wetness form in my eyes and I blink them back. I want to join you in the warmth and comfort of your laugher and Sammy’s loving arms, but I stand watch over you.
Always on the outside looking in . . .