I Wanted to Tell You Something

The end of my life as I knew it, and the start of my Wandering

The day after my 18th birthday, someone put a spell on me.

I’ll tell you who did it.

But in the moment, right after it happened, I only had a short period of time before its magic would drive me out of my village to wander the woods and wastes until a stranger said my name. Only then would I be allowed to go home again.

Friend, I have a unique name. A lovely name. No stranger would ever guess it.

I panicked, of course. I ran all the way home, flying barefoot over rocks and mud and weaving through the underbrush that tore at my clothes.

I found my mother. She was out in the garden, and I dashed up to her and grabbed her sleeve, breathless and terrified.

“What is it?” she said, glancing me over, no doubt wondering how I had managed to get my newest dress so dirty.

“I wanted to tell you something,” I blurted out. And I tried to tell her about the spell. But the words simply wouldn’t come. Listen, I’ve known about spells all my life. Since I was small, I could have told you that the first rule of a spell is that you aren’t able to tell anyone what it is.

Yet, now that my life was coming apart, I couldn’t help but try.

I huffed and puffed, choking on the syllables, unable to eke out a single word.

“I’m sure you’ll remember it later,” my mother said finally, bemused.

Tears coming to my eyes, I gripped her in a hug. That was the last time I saw her.

I ran to my older brother. So futile, I know. There was no way that my family could help me. But as I consider it now, I think I was trying to say good-bye. I would have liked to actually say good-bye.

He looked at me as I stammered wildly, making no sense.

“Quit fooling around and help me if you’re just going to stand there,” said my brother, trying to fix our goat fence.

I hugged him, too, which he thought was annoying, given that he was in the middle of hard labor. He shrugged me off and shooed me away, making a crack about my laziness.

My father was in the rye fields outside of town. I didn’t get to see him at all.

I felt the magic pushing me, welling up in my body like nausea, compelling me to leave my village, as I had been cursed to do.

I grabbed as many provisions as I could, stuffing them into a bag. I left by the outer gate, spurred violently on, and took one last look at my home.

The gloom of the deep woods lay ahead. A magical forest is no place for a young maiden. I could head for the next village, but I could never stay longer than a day.

Away I went.

Years of wandering the woods and wastelands of this kingdom have taken a toll on me. But I want you to know my story. You need to know what I found in the wilderness.

More importantly, I want you to know how my story ends.

So should we begin at the beginning?

It was all my fault.

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