Mr Reed showed up a week later after my last meeting with Mason. I signed the paperwork, and he handed me my mother's journals, the legal part would be handled by Mr Perry since he has been the one to deal with the entire mess that is my life from the very beginning. I trusted Mr Perry because my father did, but I'm not naive enough to allow myself to lean fully onto him.
On the other hand, I didn't even want to be the one to fully handle any of this in the first place, because that would require to keep contacting Mason, and I couldn't bear the thought or the sight of him, presently. It wasn't a feeling born out of hate, even though I wish it would, but it is spurred by the desire to conserve whatever sanity I have left. And I know that once I look in those eyes, I'd be lost. Something I wouldn't mind doing, only he is marrying another woman, just to fucking spite me. It is worth mentioning that he doing a marvellous job in succeeding because every time I am alone with my own thoughts that little fact hounds me more viciously than a hellhound.
With a deep breath, I turn my attention to the stack of three neatly written accounting logs. At least the covers were designed to look like accounting logs. But the content was the story of how I came to be. Nadia's words float to the surface of my mind, making me hesitate. I'm not entirely sure if I want to know the truth. There is a certain comfort in being oblivious, and once again I have to remind myself to stop running, to stop lying to myself. Because truth be told there is nothing better than having solid facts to rely upon.
With a shaky hand, I pull the first one and run my fingers over the leather bound journal embossed with gold lettering, an insignificant detail but somehow I find comfort in touching something that belonged to my mother. Just like I can't part ways with the farmer's shirt my father gave me when I was merely I child. The memory brings a smile to my lips, and I find that I'm no longer sad whenever I think of them. Knowing my mother it would have been the last thing she wanted me to do.
When I open the cover, I'm greeted with her writing. I recognise immediately the slight slant, the small round letters that seem to cram into each other as if there isn't enough space on the page. My mother was a sweet, loving woman, and I can't see any of that mirrored in her writing. It feels as if she was afraid, of anyone deciphering her writing. I knew they both feared for my life and theirs, they did the best they could to keep me safe. And I'll forever be grateful, and I'll devote my entire miserable life to honour their efforts.
The first entry is from when I was about six months old. My mother gushes over how adorable I am, and how happy she is that I have come into their lives. It feels as though those words are more for me than a simple narration of their lives together after I've come along.
Midway through the journal she begins letting little details slip. It is not glaringly obvious but I catch on to the way she referring to me as if I'm not wholly hers, as if there is a third person involved or more. At one point, she makes it plainly clear that she is not my mother. I perk up at the little detail and begin to peruse more carefully, trying not to miss any details that would help me figure out how exactly I came to be.
My parents loved me and raised me like their own flesh and blood, and to me, that is worth everything. Because that kind of love and devotion is not easy to come by, and if up until that point I had, had my reservations in regards to what kind of people my parents were, that helped clear the air for me. Probably, that was the whole point of those visits when I was held captive to plant the seed of doubt, and it had worked to some degree.
It turns out that I was made, my mother was nothing more than a surrogate, a vessel meant only to bring me into this world. I can't imagine how they achieved such a feat but, I believe my mother above all else. I was one of many attempts to create a source of power, one that would serve their purposes. My mother doesn't go into details about the mechanics but I can tell she isn't pleased with what occurred because she has dedicated only one paragraph in the entire journal.
I try not to think of that because the prospect of it, is too macabre and terrifying. My mother doesn't go into too much detail about what occurs in the temple, but I can tell by the way she is expressing herself on paper that there is a fair amount of loathing and disgust. It makes me wonder if she and my father were born and raised in the temple. If Kaya is right it is most likely so.
I was merely weeks old when Micah stepped in front of the council to put forward his proposal.
After much deliberations, Micah sensed the power that resided within me and proceeded to bring it forward to the Kallah Council, presenting me as a possible threat to their existence. And therefore I should be stripped of my powers. Or put on a leash in order for someone with a more discerning mind to control me.
The Kallah Council rejected both options, as it would give room for those powers hungry to use me as they please. At this point, the Kallah doesn't seem to be the absolute evil, and I don't know who had the initiative to create me. It could have been Micah himself, but my mother doesn't say. She keeps referring to them as 'they', so there is more than one person with skin in the game.
After a while Micah stepped in front of the council and proposed that I should be disposed of. It would be a merciful death and by removing me, I wouldn't pose any threat, any longer. All of this was a ruse because my parents had already taken me out of the temple, but my father stayed behind to monitor Micah.
To some extent, it made sense but also at the same time cruel. Because I was an infant and I hadn't done anything wrong. Micah was merely doing whatever was necessary to get his grubby hands on me. A cold shiver runs through me at that thought, at the memory of being laid on the cold altar and he almost got what he wanted. I wonder if everyone knows the truth or if he is deceiving everyone in the covenant.
The council agreed and preparations were made for my sacrifice. I take a moment to gather myself, at the thought that my parents agreed to hand me over to Micah willingly, so I could just be put down like a rabid dog. Instead of being angry, that saddens me, that my parents were so devoted to the Kallah that they would have sacrificed an innocent child. Pushing those thoughts away, I remain determined to finish reading because I know in the end they made the right decision and took me away from what could have been the end of my life. I always felt as if I should look over my shoulder at every step I take, and now I know that death is probably right behind me at all times, just waiting for the opportune moment to swipe his scythe and be done with me.
According to my mother, Micah decided to use the ceremony as an excuse to perform the ritual that would leash me to him for an eternity. I would become his slave and he would be my master to do with me as he pleased. Considering what I knew of Micah, it wouldn't be anything good. I'm still exploring the extent of my powers and without Mason, I find it difficult to control it. It is chaotic at times. It rebels against me. Sometimes I think that it is an entity in its own right. If it is, it hasn't made itself heard. It would be a nice change of pace to have someone to speak with honestly.