We spent more than an hour in the balmy room, as I pored over a history that sounded more like a fairy tale than reality. After a fashion, the images and tales within the substantial lexicon that described became familiar. It told, in intricate detail, the full history of my mother's life. A life cut short. The book laid out her astonishing biography beginning with her birth and culminating in her untimely demise in America with my father.
As I devoured the word-filled pages, I seemed to absorb what was delineated within to my very core. The tales seemed to shift from story to memory once I'd read them. I could feel the emotions of my mother with each page I read. I suspected there was some kind of spell or magic within that allowed the reader to feel the events as those who experienced them felt. As a naturally empathetic person, I often felt emotion while reading one of my beloved novels but this was different. I could feel this history as it seemed to soak into my soul.
"Erin, are you alright?" Sergei asked me as I read about how my mother had vowed to be the best mother she could dream to be when she first held me in her arms.
"Oh, yes, I'm...I'm just very touched by this story right now," I said while wiping the tears from my cheeks. I motioned to the page that held my mother's photo, with me clutched lovingly to her chest. "I can feel what she was feeling when I read these stories."
"That's unusual but in this case, I suspect it's to be expected--you share a special bond with your mother--more than just a typical mother-daughter bond because you are the heir to her position. You both have qualities that only the heir, the chlurican-goddess posses. It's why the Fae determined that those of your lineage, your birth, should be the protectors of our realm. Only someone who could truly feel the feelings of others could protect and lead them as fiercely as her," he explained considerately.
"I understand that your entire worldview has been shaken today, and that it might be overwhelming. When you've had too much to bear, let me know, and we'll go for a walk. It's very quiet here and you can take the time to process everything in your own time," he spoke the words softly and placed his strong, rough hand on my shoulder reassuringly.
I continued to read a bit longer, my neck was starting to get a crick in it, and my arms grew tired from supporting the hefty book. When I could go no further into the story--the end was coming near--I asked Sergei if he was ready for that walk yet.