Everyone's heard of forbidden love. I mean, what high school student hasn't be subjected to the torturous study of Romeo and Juliet? Disney fairy tales, the whole lot of everything romantic mortals grow up watching deals with forbidden love. Little girls look at it, hoping they never end up like their princess models, longing for a mate they aren't allowed to love and marry. Let me be the one to tell you, forbidden love isn't something that you'd wish upon your worst enemy. It's horrible; I should know, I've been there, done that.
I was born to a single woman in fifteen eighty-three. We lived out in the woods because everyone in the town viewed my mother a whore for not marrying the man who sired me. I knew from a young age that mom was afraid of me. I didn't understand why, I didn't do anything. When I finally did to something to deserve the fear my mother had of me, I didn't even mean to do it. One of the little children from the town had wandered out to the front gate and was calling me "Hell sired bastard spawn". I wanted so badly for that little blonde girl to go away in any way. She didn't need to call me names for what my mother did or didn't do. I stared at her, wishing her disappearance and she just fell over on the ground.
To say the least, I was shocked, and scared, and a little intrigued with what I'd just done. I was only barely three at the time, and I started screaming, causing mom to rush outside. She looked at me for several minutes before noticing the girl lying on the ground outside of the fence.
"Delphia, what did you do?" mom wailed, scaring off several birds who'd been nesting in nearby trees.
"I dunno mama, she fell over. She was calling me the bad names." I sniffled, wiping my face. Mom looked real pale, like when I got sick after eating something rotten.
"Whatever you did to this poor girl, I don't ever want to see you, or hear of you doing it again." Mom ordered me, unlocking the gate and stepping through. "Stay in the house. I'll be back before dinner time." She pointed to the house. Mama took the little girl off the ground and carried her away. She came back after forever without the girl, I assumed she'd taken her home to her mama and daddy.
To this day, I'm still not quite sure who my father is, but I know for a fact that my little sister, whom I only know as Karaxiel, but for the purpose of this story, I will call Danielle, was sired by a man named Tomas. He was really nice looking, with dark hair and blue eyes, a complete contrast to my dark red hair and green eyes, but a perfect match to mama. He was only around for a couple months, and then he left. Mama cried for what seemed like forever, telling me over and over again that he was just like the good for nothing man who gave her me. She told me not to fall in love; that it only broke hearts. Nine months later, my little sister came into the universe.
Danielle looked too much like Tomas. Mama didn't like it. I could tell. She got this look on her face every time she looked at her youngest daughter. She had the same black hair and blue eyes Tomas had. Along with the second daughter without being married, came the second batch of ridicule from the townspeople. Children came every day to throw insults at me and mama, every now and again even at the tiny baby who slept in a wicker basket while mama and I worked outside.
I started to hate the people in town, who let their kids come and torment me and my baby sister. I didn't like being blamed for what was out of not only my own, but Danielle's control as well. Neither of us ever did anything. Thankfully, as a year went on, the townspeople started to forget about my little family out in the woods and fewer and fewer people came out to taunt, eventually stopping all together. After they stopped coming out every day, mama started looking happier.
When my sister was a little over one year old, mama started letting me take her out on walks in the woods around our house. I had fun, getting to be the responsible older sister. It was so cute to watch Danielle look with wonder at everything she saw in the trees and grass. Then she did something naughty.
It was only our fifth or sixth time out on the trails throughout the woods, when Danielle picked up a huge spider and placed it on my back. I started screaming as soon as I felt it crawling along my spine, jumping up in down in hopes of removing it from my body. I managed to shake it off, but by that time, I'd already begun to cry. Danielle, the little brat was sitting in the dirt, clapping her pudgy little hands and laughing. That was the moment I started hating my sister.
Mama thought it was odd that after that I no longer wanted to take my sister out in the woods, but I wouldn't tell her why; already knowing what she'd tell me. "That she didn't know what she was doing, and didn't mean it." After that, Danielle seemed to get worse and worse.
No matter what Danielle did, I was always in the wrong. Mama didn't care what Danielle did, it was always what I did, and I always got in trouble, whereas she didn't. It was always "Delphia, leave your sister alone!" and "Don't hurt your sibling Delphia!" it didn't matter to mother if Danielle ripped my clothes or pulled my hair or threw something at me. She could do no wrong.
There was one instance when Danielle was two and I was seven. I was told to watch her out in the front yard. She running around in circles, squealing about one thing or another, and I was watching her uninterestedly. I wasn't paying much attention and didn't really register she'd picked up the pointy stick until it made contact with my left eye. I yelped and jumped back, eliciting giggles from the toddler who dropped the stick. I was angry and did the first thing that came to mind. I picked up my giggling sister and dropped her in a nearby mud puddle, getting her completely covered in mud.
Of course the little maggot immediately started screaming, and seconds later, right on cue came the yell of "Delphia, stop hurting your sister!" I sighed; of course I had to have done something. Toddlers didn't cry unless provoked, or at least Danielle didn't. No, it seemed as though Danielle only cried if it got me in trouble somehow.
"Mama, I didn't do anything." I hollered as she came out the front door. She took one look at Danielle sitting in mud crying and her mind was already made up. It was my fault.
"Delphia, get inside. You're going to scrub at this dress until you can no longer see the dirt stain. Do you understand me?" I nodded; watching in anger as she lovingly picked up the muddy toddler and carried her inside to wash her. Danielle was the only one who ever got regular baths. I think it was because she was a baby. I was made to wait in the corner until mama finished washing the baby, then was made to scrub the dirty dress in the lukewarm bath water.
As I scrubbed at the mud stains, I grumbled to myself at the unfairness of it all. I was never asked for my side of the story; it was just automatically assumed that I was to blame because mama feared what I could do. I wished that Danielle would do something to make mama fear her as well.
Mama died though; a month after Danielle turned three. Danielle by that time was really spoiled, believing that she was perfect like mama led her to believe. I cremated mama while Danielle was asleep and put her ashes in the flower bed as fertilizer. That way no one would come and try and take us from our home. I became Danielle's mother in a way. I did our laundry and cooking and such, but I didn't pamper the little maggot like mama did. It wasn't worthy of my doing.
As Danielle grew older, she and I began having sibling rivalry to a bad degree. We turned everything into a competition; gardening, hunting, cooking, even building fires. Nothing that was really competitive to begin with, but we easily made it that way.
One night she was boasting about the bird she killed and I thought of a way to bring her down a few notches, I told her about the little girl I'd killed by accident years ago. That shut her up for several days as she planned a way to best me. I was quite proud of myself for managing to keep Danielle silence her boasting….that is until she drug home the body.
Danielle came home one afternoon almost a week after I'd told her about my accidental killing dragging a body of an older boy behind her through the dirt. "There," she told me, "anything that you can do, I can do better." She told me haughtily, grinning at my shocked expression as I gazed down at the dusty bloody body between us.
"Where did you find him, why did you kill him, and how did you do it?" I rattled off, my voice higher than it should've been.
"He was wondering around the woods, I wanted to prove that I could do whatever you did, so I stabbed him a couple times with a tree branch. Easy." She was way too proud of herself than a seven year old should ever be about murdering another human being. I was oddly happy about that fact though, considering it proved that Danielle was no better than I.
"Go inside and start dinner," I ordered. She flashed me a holier than thou grin once more before prancing inside. I grimaced, before grabbing the body and started to drag it out behind the house where I built a fire and threw the body in the flames, watching as it caught fire. I was standing outside watching the fire for more than two hours, making sure that the body was completely ash, and then took all the ashes I could gather and went and spread them a fair ways away from our house. I didn't want the murder of the boy to come back to me and Danielle if it anyone ever discovered any trace of the boy.
I said a quick prayer after the ashes were spread and ran back to the house. Danielle was already dishing up dinner, it looked like it was pure vegetables as neither of us had had much luck in hunting for a while unless one felt like counting Danielle's murder, but I wasn't about to eat human. I grabbed my plate and sat at the table, digging into my food to hide how sick I felt from my weird little ritual.
After dinner was eaten and dishes were washed and put away, the two of us sat in front of the fire. I was working on a blanket with yarn I'd bought from town the week before, and Danielle was simply watching the flames dance. We sat in relative silence for a while, and then Danielle asked the oddest question.
"Would you tell me about my father?" I stopped my knitting and looked at her.
"He left." I said simply before resuming my work.
"What was he like? I know he left." She pressed.
"That's all you need to know. He left. He didn't want you, he didn't want mama, and he didn't want a family. He isn't worth knowing about." Fully annoyed at that point, I folded the half-finished blanket and placed it into the basket next to the hearth.
"Why wouldn't he want me or mama?" she looked at me and for a moment I had to remind myself that she was only seven. Though she had managed to commit murder without a single issue, she didn't get much as far as the world went.
"I dunno Danielle, prolly the same reason that my father didn't stick around either. Mama called both of them drifters. Never able to stay in one place too long. I wouldn't worry about it too much. It's not worth it. But, time for bed." I pulled her to her feet and rushed her off to get in her nightclothes. Once I got her into bed, I went around the house, extinguishing the lamps and candles before taking the last lit candle to my own room to prepare for sleep.