Standing Taller

[zuziee 4004]

 

 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

· · ────────────── · ·

 

Katya Kortrevich had never been a particularly complicated child. She whined before following directions, dutifully finished all her vegetables, and was finally beginning to read and write at the same pace as the other children in Karoslund. Yet for all her outward ordinariness, mischief clung to her. She was the type to swap Moryana and Dszamila’s shoes under the table just to watch them squabble, or to help toss lit candles into an unsuspecting bedroom for the thrill of chaos. That disorder, its sudden sparks and ungoverned edges, energized her. Rejuvenated her.

 

It wasn’t until her aunt’s death that she realized it wasn’t normal to be like this… or to only have one parent. The absence struck her not as a tragedy but a quiet curiosity, and rather than withdrawing, Katya developed an uncanny sensitivity to the emotional undercurrents of those around her. She sought their approval, not overtly, but with the practiced subtlety of a child who had learned to listen with more than just her ears.

 

Like a sponge in water, she absorbed the world around her in intricate detail. She noticed what others missed, the flick of an eye, the twitch of a brow, the way a frown hesitated before settling into place. These observations became tools. She’d read the room, assess the mood, and then slip in a joke or comment at just the right moment to coax out laughter or a smirk. Those quiet, hidden reactions, those were her rewards. She tended to them like coals in a hearth.

 

In the days leading up to her mother’s wedding, time stretched unbearably slow. Guests came and went at all hours, knocking and calling for her mother or older brother. No one seemed to spare a glance her way, which suited Katya just fine. It made it easier to slip out unnoticed in the early mornings, fishing rod in hand. Her two cats, gifted to her by her late aunt, followed her out the back door and over the garden fence with casual loyalty. Katya had been crawling under or leaping over that fence for years. Now, she could vault it with ease, even with her arms full.

 

She pushed past the tangle of brambles and wet leaves, following the familiar downhill path until the muddy shores of Lake Igna revealed themselves like a secret.

 

Her favorite fishing spot lay on the far side of the lake, where a broad, flat stone jutted just enough into the water to feel like a stepping stone into another world. Her cats never followed her that far; they always turned back once they realized she was headed out to catch their breakfast. Alone, Katya trudged along the water’s edge, boots dragging heavy trails through the muck. She only ever dragged her feet like that when something weighed on her mind.

 

Lately, it was the wedding.

 

She liked Haakon; he was bold, funny, and carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that others respected. And she wanted to be respected. She had studied him intently in her own way, observing his silences and the way others yielded to them. So she, too, had grown quieter, sharpening her words like a blade. He stood tall, so she practiced squaring her shoulders and walking with more confidence. She had even snuck into several of his meetings with a few equally troublesome friends, just to catch another glimpse of the strange man who would soon become a permanent part of her life.

 

And yet, she was only ten. A child. One who still stared at hidden paintings of her parents with awe and longing. She had found them stashed in a dusty closet, likely hidden by her mother to keep the memory from resurfacing for her brothers. But Katya would not forget. She traced the contours of her father’s face in oil and canvas, marveling at how deeply she resembled him, dark features and solemn eyes, softened only slightly by girlhood and time.

 

It hurt to admit, even silently, but what she longed for most wasn’t a title or even respect; it was love. Love not just from her peers or her mother, but from someone long gone. A ghost of a father. How could she live up to someone so grand, when in truth she couldn’t even lift a sword properly? The thought sagged her posture further as she finally reached her stone-away-from-home.

 

She dropped onto the moss-slick rock and exhaled a breath that had felt lodged in her chest since yesterday. The lake, in its quiet vastness, seemed to listen.

 

With the practiced motion of someone twice her age, she began preparing her line. Katya had recently taken to making her own lures, using scraps of torn fabric, loose gems, and other odds and ends she found digging through her mother’s closets. Her creations were both beautiful and strange, small talismans of defiance. She hooked one to the end of the line, pulled her arm back, and flung it forward with force, the rod snapping taut as the lure arced into the deep blue.

 

She didn’t have to wait long. Something tugged, hard. Stronger than a salmon. Her fingers curled tighter around the rod as she dug her heels into the slick stone, playing a fierce game of tug-of-war. She reeled with swift, experienced motions, knowing she had the advantage. Whatever thrashed on the other end had never met a fisherman like her.

 

Then it broke the surface. A long, serpentine creature burst upward, its pink fins glinting like ribbons in the dawn. Its scales shimmered, reflecting light in iridescent hues like oil on water, but gentler, as though filtered through a dream. Its eyes glowed a steady, soft white. Katya’s heart leapt. She knew exactly what it was.

 

The wishing serpent.

 

She had caught two when she first started fishing. Her brothers said it was beginner’s luck. But this? This was no fluke. This was hers, her doing. Her wish to claim.

 

The reel clicked as she pulled it in one final time. The serpent writhed, suspended in the air, the hook piercing through its cheek. Her grin faltered. A pang of guilt struck her, deep and sharp. She stepped closer and, with delicate fingers, removed the lure and then the hook. Cradling the snake between her palms, she felt its pulse: strong, afraid, alive.

 

Katya closed her eyes.

 

On the banks of Lake Igna, mist curling around her ankles, she made a wish so simple it almost didn't seem worth the magic.

 

She wished that whatever her family had become, or was going to become, it would find room to love her. Not just tolerate her, not simply remember that she had been the firstborn daughter, but love her. No new siblings, no losses or gains, would change the truth of that birthright. But she still ached to be chosen the way she had always quietly chosen them. 

 

With reverence, she lowered the serpent back into the lake. It slipped from her hands with surprising gentleness, disappearing beneath the surface with a shimmer and a ripple. She had no desire to rob it of its life. Not this one. She sensed it had more wishes to give, more lives to touch. She only hoped her own would come true in time. That glimmer of enchantment faded quickly, replaced soon after by a sturdy salmon tugging on her line. The rest of the morning passed without incident. She returned to the cottage with her catch and fed the cats.

 

Her wish remained a secret, and she'd watch the days that followed for any sign that it might be unfolding. But her mother only seemed more preoccupied, enthralled by Haakon and swept up in the demanding rhythm of becoming Queen. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ༄.°

[Frawlic 1602]

Things had settled, or at least that is what Dima had thought. She did not want life to change, though still remained entirely aware that she'd have no choice in the matter. So when her home had grown quiet, the childrens' rooms empty before she even awoke, likely because of their more distant activities, she sat alone at the table, plates set for six.