Two witches sat at a small table, listening to the silence that spread through the room after the story ended.
For Mnou, it was a strange feeling to finally get it off her chest. Only now did she realize she had never told her whole story to anyone. She surprised herself by recounting it without much difficulty. She had thought she wouldn't be able to talk about some parts, but she managed. She managed, and she felt refreshed. It was like shedding a heavy garment soaked in water. She was naked now, exposed, but she didn't mind—because it was Esme who saw her this way. Her true self. With all her flaws and all her ugliness. For a long time, she had feared Esme would despise her after learning all this, but now one look was enough to know that wasn't the case.
The little girl was watching her with understanding and composure. She hadn't uttered a word throughout the entire story. This was a completely different Esme than the one who had come to her months ago. That restless and talkative girl would have surely interrupted every other sentence with questions.
They sat in silence for quite a while longer. Words weren't necessary. They understood each other without them, and they both knew they needed time to process the story. Then Esme spoke:
"It's my turn now. It wouldn't be fair if I stayed silent," she whispered. She tried to sound brave and determined, but her voice trembled ever so slightly.
Mnou reached across the table and took her hand. "I told you, if you don't feel up to it, you don't have to do this. I meant it."
"I know, and thank you for that," Esme smiled sadly and squeezed Mnou's hand, "but I want to do this. I think it's time I got rid of this burden too."
As calmly as possible, she began to speak quietly, still clutching the offered hand.
I don't even know exactly where I was born. I don't remember that place, my parents, or my siblings at all. I know we were very poor. Barely surviving. I must have had at least three siblings. I vaguely remember them running around and a stern voice scolding them. I don't know what they looked like. Not even one of them. The only thing my parents left me was my name—Esme.
I must have been around three or four years old when they left me alone by the river. The sun was shining pleasantly, and I was holding someone's hand—probably my mother's. And then… she was gone. Just vanished from my world. Not a word of goodbye. I was completely alone. I could never confirm it, but they probably left me because there wasn't enough money left for me. There were simply too many of us in the household.
I cried bitterly and called for my mother in a babbling voice. Called and called until I fell asleep from exhaustion.
I was awakened by snorting and the pungent smell of unwashed fur. A wet snout buried itself in my little face, and the creature began licking away the tear stains. At first, I recoiled and cried again in fear. Through my blurred vision, I saw the animal still standing there, wagging its tail and drooling. When I realized it meant no harm, I wiped my eyes and crawled toward it on all fours. It was a dog. I really don't know what breed, but it had shaggy, grey-brown, dirty fur, a long snout, and a tongue hanging from its mouth. Despite its scruffy appearance, it had a kind expression. It seemed to smile at me, and its green-brown eyes sparkled kindly in the sunlight.
I wiped my snotty nose, babbled "Doggy," and began petting and cuddling it without hesitation. When it started licking my face again, I laughed and continued to scratch it. Suddenly, a voice called nearby:
"Aiko! Aiko, where have you run off to again!?"
Frightened, I hid behind a tree. The dog ran to me and began barking. I was scared but stayed curled up there, snuggled against the animal. Soon, a figure emerged from the bushes.
"There you are you rascal! Where have you been?" The figure bent down to pet the dog and then noticed me. She stood there in surprise.
A girl in boyish clothes towered over me. She had short-cropped hair and sharp features. She looked at me cautiously but not unkindly. Slowly, she knelt on the other side of the dog, and I buried myself in its fur, fearful.
"Um… where are your parents? Are you lost?" she asked kindly.
"Mo… mommy disappeared," I whispered. "Do you know where my mommy is?"
"I really don't, I'm sorry. But I can help you find her. What does she look like? Where did you come from?"
I think I mumbled a few irrelevant facts that wouldn't help much with the search. The girl sighed and sat heavily in the tall grass.
"Could… could I go…" I started the sentence but mumbled the rest incoherently.
"What?" she asked.
"Could I go with you and the doggy if mommy doesn't come back?" I mumbled, still buried in the dirty fur.
The girl frowned at me for a moment, then sighed again and smiled.
"Of course. Looks like Aiko likes you. I wouldn't have found you without her." She scratched Aiko on the head. "Maybe… maybe it's fate."
"Thank you!" I cheered.
"Shall we go then?" my new companion stood up and brushed off the grass and fur.
"Yeah!" I nodded, then timidly asked, "Do you think the dog would mind if I rode on her?"
She ruffled my hair playfully and laughed. "Not at all. Hop on."
I climbed onto Aiko with excitement, and she barked energetically, setting off at a trotting pace.
"What's your name?" my guide asked after a while.
"Esme! And yours?"
"I'm Yelwa."
And that's how I started living with Yelwa. It didn't took long before I basically forgot about my original family. It may sound cruel, but the time I spent with them is like a strange limbo in my memory. True, I was very, very young then, but I don't remember feeling love or a mother's embrace. In the end, they even abandoned me. Yelwa became more of a real mother to me than my real one.
We lived in the slums outside the city of Pox. It was a poor district where houses were made of driftwood and scraps. Only a few homes even remotely resembled real buildings. Beggars lay in the streets, and you never knew when someone might rob you—or worse. But none of that affected me much. Yelwa and Aiko were my whole world, and most importantly, we rarely got into trouble. Yelwa had quite the reputation in the Pox underworld. She was something of a thief but did all sorts of jobs. Everything except killing. She strictly avoided that, no matter the reward.
One day, I asked her why. We were cuddling on a cold evening by our humble fire in our tiny shelter, two walls made of heavy rugs, the other two from assorted debris. It was tough in the winter, but otherwise, it was cozy. Aiko curled around us. She looked much better than when I first met her. I had brushed and washed her thoroughly, even though she resisted at first. Now she gleamed with cleanliness. I asked out of innocent curiosity—I didn't mean to push her. We were just bored, and it came to mind. Yelwa looked at me with a thoughtful expression. That surprised me since she usually smiled ear to ear no matter the situation. She didn't want to brush off my question; she wanted to answer honestly.
"You see, Esme," she began, "killing someone isn't something you just do. It's something you really have to think about. Who knows, maybe there are people who truly deserve to die. But even if that's true, it doesn't change the fact that you'll never get rid of it."
I didn't understand everything she said, but I listened quietly, holding my breath at her calm melodic voice.
"When you argue with a friend, you can make it right. When you hurt someone, you can make it right. Even if you hit rock bottom, you can always make it right. But there's one thing you can never undo. That's when you kill someone."
I thought about her words and then cautiously asked, "But if it's such a terrible thing, why do so many people do it?"
Yelwa laughed bitterly. "Good question, little one. Unfortunately, I can't answer that. Maybe we'll never change, but the more people understand what it really means, the better. That's why I'm telling you this."
I nodded and rested my head on her shoulder wrapped in the smoke-scented blanket. Another question burned inside me. I hesitated for a while, then whispered:
"And… have you ever…," I didn't finish the sentence.
An uncomfortable silence filled the hut for a long time. I began to regret asking and was about to apologize when Yelwa spoke:
"Yes."
That short, harmless word ominously echoed through the air. After a while, she continued:
"I killed my stepfather. I was a little older than you. Nearly every night he came home drunk and often beat me and my mother. We always hid in the corner and hoped he'd just go to sleep. But one day, I couldn't take it anymore. I was scared. So scared he'd hit me again, but mostly I feared for my mother. A knife gleamed in his hand, and I knew I had no choice. I had to do something. I had to save her and escape this hell once and for all. I grabbed a rum bottle that lay under the table and smashed it over his head with all my strength. The glass shattered everywhere. I covered my eyes with my hand, but I still saw him collapse lifelessly onto the sharp edge of the table and fall among the shards. His forehead was split open. He was dead."
My companion sighed deeply. She tried to smile when she saw my frightened face, but it was clear she felt heavy-hearted. She must have felt the story needed to be finished, so she took a breath and continued.
"My mother and I fled and wandered the world for a while. But it didn't last. She was killed in a raid by the Makhkatans. From then on, I had to fend for myself. My mother was always kind to me, but I can hardly recall her face. My stepfather's, though—that one is etched into my memory, and I don't think I'll ever get it out. Until I die, I'll see that disgusting face."
"But he was bad. He… he deserved it," I exclaimed indignantly, wanting to reassure her that she hadn't done anything wrong.
She just smiled sadly and shrugged.
"In the end, all I had left from my parents was my name. Just like you," she said after a while. Wanting to shift to a more pleasant topic, she asked:
"Do you know what Yelwa means in the old language?"
I shook my head.
She pulled the blanket from her shoulders and took out a dagger. She grabbed a piece of wood lying nearby and scratched something into it. Then she triumphantly showed me her creation. I squinted at it but only saw strange squiggles.
"What is it?" I asked, examining it with curiosity.
"This, Esme, is written in the ancient runes of our ancestors. What I wrote is my name—Yelwa. My mother taught me to write it."
"So what does it mean?"
"Morning Star," Yelwa said softly and repeated: "Morning Star."
"Wow, that's so beautiful! Do you think my name means something too?"
"Of course it does! Every name has a meaning."
"Yay! Then we have to find out what it is!" I cheered excitedly.
Yelwa ruffled my hair affectionately. Her good mood and energy returned, but for just a moment, she adopted a quiet, melancholic tone. She whispered:
"Whatever my mother was like and whatever we went through together, I don't want to forget her. Even just because of that name, I'll always love her and be grateful."