My name is Milaia, and this, this is my story.
I should probably start at the beginning. But the real beginning, when it all changed, that was when I was twelve years old.
When I was twelve years old, my mother died.
I remembered that day perfectly. I was reading a book about fairies, when I saw the float of the dead arrive. Everything stopped. I got up with a cramped body and blurred vision.
'My dear, is anyone home?' asked the man.
'No, just me', I hesitated, 'can I help you?'
'I'm very sorry, but we found your mother near the woods, injured. We did everything we could'.
My mind went blank, I didn't think I could stand so much pain. I ran far away from there and felt my mother's soul running with me. I spent two days in the woods, I don't know how I survived. I only know that when I returned, I understood that I could no longer be a weak girl, I had to become a strong woman. It was that determination of self-defense that saved me from the pain.
All I had left from my mother were her words of love, and of course the necklace she gave me. It was a modest but splendid necklace that she never took off. The gold threads held a beautiful wooden sculpture with a small white circle in the middle. I used to joke all the time that that circle was a valuable crystal. She would always laugh.
My father never liked me like she did. He mistreated me all my life, made me feel small and mistaken. This got even worse in my mother's absence. My father was a woodcutter, so, after my mother's passing, he began to spend more hours in the woods, alone, night and day. Without him noticing, one time I followed him. He sat on a branch and drank for hours.
Our house became a mess quickly. I tried to say something but it was useless, nobody listened to me.
Marco was the eldest. His self-centered, dominant character was not what everyone saw in him as I did. Most loved him, including my father who believed that his son was his only blessing. Marco had chosen to work in a tavern for his own benefit. All the money he collected was spent right there, on drinks and the company of women. He didn't need to pay for company though. Women would compete for his attention. He had taken on so many virtues that my father had to attribute it to his magnetic physique. 'He can't control it' he would say laughing off every upset parent. I knew he would never marry, he would probably wait until my sister and I were and keep the house for himself. With brown hair, big blue eyes and a huge smile, he always seemed to have everything under control. For some reason that I never understood, Marco completely and profoundly hated me, a hatred that he denied but that he transmitted. There are things that cannot be hidden even by the biggest lies. He treated me as if I were a strange enemy who was only alive to ruin his life. As if I were a punishment for him. He was always arguing with me about everything.
Mena was the middle child. She had an effervescence that made absolutely every boy and girl in the village die of love for her. She was made of sunshine and rainbow combine. With her dark, deep black curls, light-blue eyes and pale skin, she could get away with anything. She was the only one still attending classes. She wanted to be a dress-maker. She would spend hours designing and making dresses that she would then try on her mannequin, me. Her dresses were beautiful, but they didn't fit my style at all.
I was and am the most anti-feminine creature someone could think of. If it were up to me, I'd leave behind that whole concept that rules my days, where women are forced to wear hideous, tight corsets and smile while pretending everything is okay. That's why I was always different. I had always managed to destroy my dresses, and with that excuse, I would wear my mother's riding old pants. They were too manly for my dear friends, but perfect for me. I loved being different, everyone thought I was an insult to womanhood. I didn't care about any of that, I walked around town in my beautiful old pants. My hair is also brown, a lighter shade than my siblings, my eyes are amber.
My mother looked just like Marco, her eyes were also blue, her hair was brown, only her smile was smaller and more discreet. Delicate, fine, very influential, her family lived in a different town. I never had any contact with them because mother always said that marrying a woodcutter had made them despised her, and she didn't want her children to be near them. However, every morning my mother would ride through the woods to her old village to visit some of them and return before dark.
My father, with his blue eyes, blond hair and abundant beard of the same shade, was from a family of humble bakers. With the money they had collected from selling some bread, when he turned fourteen, my grandparents gave him an axe that he used for the rest of his life. When his father died, he decided to support his mother in this way, cutting wood every morning and selling it to every household.
Times were very bad for woodcutters. War with Crescendo had cost Bieno a lot. People didn't have money for food, less for wood. Seeing how my house was a mess, my father was a mess and money wasn't coming form anywhere, I made the decision to leave classes and start working.
In all honesty, it was a certain relief. Classes made me extremely unhappy. All they thought important to teach was how to be a proper lady. I wanted to learn so much more than that, and every time I would mention that, well, it didn't turn the best way possible.
So, I started working from basically anything. I would look after children, clean houses, build furniture. In the afternoons, when I finished working, I liked to run into the woods.
I loved the woods.
Feeling the wind blowing against my face was my meaning of peace. It was my favorite time all day, running, with my hair down. Once there, I would sit and slide my hand across the grass and feel it slip through my fingers. I could hear the birds flapping their wings at great speed, escaping from any possible danger. I could feel the wind moving slightly in a continuous rhythm, and see the plants and flowers that dressed the land with different colors. I enjoyed the last rays of the sun, which bounced off my pale face. I connected instantly with nature, camouflaged myself, became part of it. So much beauty, so close to everyone and yet so unappreciated.
And that was my life, until one afternoon when everything changed again.
Or as I like to think, when my journey begin.
The beginning of the most crazy of adventures.