Anna, the woman who raised me from the moment I opened my eyes to the world. She was the picture of joy and liveliness when surrounded by others, but when we were alone, something darker lurked beneath her cheerful facade.
At times, I would find her huddled in a corner, muttering to herself.
Curious, I'd approach her, asking, 'What's wrong, Mama?' as gently as my young voice could manage. And at the sound of my question, she'd snap out of her reverie, pulling me close and showering me with warmth and affection. But even as she smiled, her voice would betray the sadness she tried so hard to hide.
'I'm not your mother,' she would say, her eyes haunted by a past I couldn't possibly understand. Those words, spoken with such finality, would echo through my mind, leaving me confused and desperate for answers. But for every question I asked, her lips would only tighten, and the sorrow in her eyes would deepen.
Night after night, Anna would bring home different men, each one more oblivious than the last. They were blinded by her seemingly carefree laughter, completely unaware of the storm raging beneath her forced smiles. To them, she was the epitome of happiness, but I knew the truth—Anna was a woman carrying a heavy burden, her laughter little more than a mask to conceal the pain that consumed her.
I didn't understand the whispers I heard as I walked through the streets, the accusing eyes that branded me as the 'son of a harlot.' The word meant nothing to me at the time, but even then, some deep-rooted instinct prevented me from asking Anna about it.
I sensed, on some level, that the word was hurtful, and that if I asked, the fragile smile she wore would shatter into a million pieces.
One day, Anna vanished. She never returned home, leaving me alone in a world that suddenly felt hostile and unforgiving. Each passing day was a painful reminder of her absence.
Eventually, the owner of our home banished me, leaving me with no place to go, no one to turn to. The streets were all that remained, and they were cold and cruel, a stark contrast to the warmth and safety I once knew with Anna
The streets were my new home, and with each passing day, they became more and more of a hellscape. I bore witness to death in all its forms—from starvation and disease, to violence and unknown causes. Despite this, I somehow managed to cling to life, hanging on by a thread.
For three years, I scraped by on nothing but luck and stubborn survival instinct. But as time passed, my body began to weaken. My stomach ached with a hunger so fierce, I thought it would tear me apart from the inside out.
Begging was an option, but often proved futile. The cruel and callous souls that prowled the streets took great pleasure in chasing away a pathetic boy like me, who they viewed as no more than a mangy stray.
I was alone. Forsaken. And I was beginning to wonder if this was the fate the gods had destined for me—to be a footnote in the story of the world, forgotten and left to rot.
Just as I was about to accept my fate, a stroke of luck intervened. A young girl, burdened by a heavy basket, passed by.
In a desperate bid to stave off starvation for another day, I seized my chance and snatched the basket, darting off into the crowd before she could react. But my weak body betrayed me, and the girl's cries rang out, alerting the crowd to my presence.
I fled for my life, but the crowds were swift and merciless. My attempts to escape were feeble at best, my body barely able to sustain the pace. I resigned myself to my fate—a cruel and brutal punishment, and perhaps a merciful end to my suffering.
But then, a voice rang out from the crowd—'He's my brother! We just had a little misunderstanding!' A hand reached through the throng, pushing the onlookers away. I opened my eyes in shock, stunned to see the very girl I'd robbed standing before me.
I sat there, dumbfounded, as the girl managed to disperse the crowd with a few simple words.
As I stared up at her, a rush of questions flooded my mind: Why had she lied to protect me? Was she planning to exact a different form of retribution, one that I couldn't even begin to imagine? And if so, would it be worse than the mob's justice?
She knelt down beside me, her citrus perfume filling the air with a sweet, tantalizing scent. My stomach growled in protest, the hunger pangs intensifying at the mere whiff of something edible.
With a smile, she asked if I was hungry, and I nodded weakly, unable to deny the desperation in my stomach. She offered me her hand, and I found the strength to pull myself to my feet.
She beckoned me to follow her, and I did so without question. The first stop: an inn, its warm, inviting aroma wafting through the air. My stomach rumbled audibly at the promise of food, and she laughed, a light-hearted sound that somehow eased the gnawing hunger in my belly.
As we stepped inside, the welcoming scent of savory delicacies enveloped me, and I couldn't help but wonder—what had I done to deserve such kindness from this stranger?
We took our seats at an empty table and, within moments, a host was at our side, ready to take our order. The girl smiled warmly at me, encouraging me to choose whatever my stomach desired. It was a surreal moment, like a dream I had never imagined could be real. In the haze of my hunger, I barely registered her gesture as I blurted out my order: a big bowl of hearty stew with a hunk of crusty bread.
As the host scurried away to fulfill our order, I turned to the girl, mystified by her generosity.
When the steaming bowl of stew arrived, I let out an audible gulp. The savory aroma wafted over me, tempting my hunger-stricken senses. Without hesitation, I dove in, shoveling mouthfuls of stew into my mouth with reckless abandon.
The need to savor each bite was lost on me—all I cared about was satisfying my aching stomach. Within moments, the first bowl was gone, but the hunger still gnawed at me.
To my relief, the girl motioned for me to order another bowl. I was still hesitant, feeling a twinge of guilt for consuming so much, but my hunger overruled any sense of shame. Bowl after bowl, I devoured my meal like a wild animal, oblivious to the world around me.
After an astonishing eight bowls of stew, my stomach finally groaned with satisfaction. I leaned back in my chair, heavy with food, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a glimmer of freshness and energy.
It was a surreal sensation, one that I had forgotten existed. As I sat in that tavern, surrounded by warmth and the remnants of my gluttonous feast, I couldn't help but wonder: who was this girl who had given me a fleeting taste of life beyond the harsh streets? And what, if anything, did she expect from me in return?
The girl introduced herself as Ava, a maid at the castle, and inquired about my name. I revealed my identity, and next, she asked me about my parents. But I could only offer a wistful shrug —'I know nothing about them.' At my words, her face transformed, a pained expression washing over her features.
Silent for a moment, She gathered herself and continued, offering me a house—my own house. I was stunned. Was this generosity for real, or was it too good to be true?
Her offer seemed almost too good to be true. I wanted to trust her kindness, to believe that a better life was within my grasp. But the streets had been ruthless in their lessons: trust no one, question everything.
Caught between hope and doubt, I was paralyzed with indecision. How could I possibly accept such a generous offer from a stranger, one whose motives were still a mystery to me?
The weight of my decision pressed down upon me, but her compassionate gaze gave me pause. Perhaps, I thought, there was still kindness in this world, even amid the grime and darkness of the town streets.
I didn't know what the future held, but the prospect of a home—of a place to call my own—was something I couldn't ignore. And so, with a mix of fear and eagerness, I accepted her offer.
She nodded and smiled, radiating warmth as she rose from her seat and extended a hand towards me. 'Come with me,' she said, leading me from the tavern.
That was the day I met Ava, a girl who became my closest companion, my confidant, my savior.
She had pulled me from the depths of despair and offered me a lifeline when I needed it most. And in return, I vowed to protect her, to repay her kindness, to keep her safe from the cruelty of the world—for as long as I drew breath.
For Ava is not just my friend, but my light in the darkness, my reason for being.