BIGGER MARSHES

[zuziee 4004]

 

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“No one can be angry with me if I’m alone.” The words slipped from Katya’s lips like honey, spoken lightly as she sat at the cottage table beside Elara, absently licking the last of the birthday cake frosting from her fingers. Elara only shook her head, her attention fixed on the stack of dishes before her. Katya frowned, mistaking the silence for dismissal. She could never read her teacher; Elara’s expression was always carved in stone.

 

With a sigh, Katya rose from the narrow dining table. She gathered her plate and fork, carrying them to the counter with delicate care before setting them down near Elara. Then, turning on her heel, she drifted toward the front door. Today had been her eighteenth nameday, marked in snatches of joy between long shadows of grief, the kind that pressed her to the floor, leaving her to curl tight and beg for some unseen mercy. 

 

On most nights, Katya would patrol before bed. She’d light a small lantern and push open the cottage door. The cool air met her at once, carrying the mingled scents of earth and pine. She pressed her toes into the cushion of moss blanketing the forest floor and began her quiet circuit of the wagons and pens. She lingered by the chattering feasels first, then moved on to the bulls, cows, and sheep. The peacocks stirred restlessly in the moonlight, the fox blinked at her from its den, and last of all, she stooped to stroke her favorite companion, her scrappy little cat, Moldy.

 

On her way back, lantern light swaying in her hand, Katya paused at the mailbox. Her fingers tightened around the handle, hope prickling sharp in her chest. She opened it with bated breath, only to find it empty. A hollow ache spread through her as her heart dropped like a stone to the pit of her stomach.

 

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From her new room on the third floor, Katya sat listening to the strange, unrelenting wind that rattled the shutters outside her door. She missed the hum of the earth and the faint tread of footsteps overhead, comforts her old basement bedroom had always offered. Up here, in this high perch, the house seemed too still, the silence broken only by the storm’s mournful howl.

 

It was midday, yet every room around her stood empty. Somehow, everyone else had found something to do, even though the blizzard outside had brought most outdoor activity to a halt. Katya knew it wasn’t that she had been deliberately left behind. All she had to do was open her door, walk down the stairs, and step into the rhythm of the household. But she lingered in her solitude, stubbornness keeping her rooted. She hated having to ask to be included; it felt like admitting she didn’t belong.

 

Her brothers never seemed to struggle. Martin could stride into any conversation and claim it as his own, laughter following wherever he went. Viktor, on the other hand, was reserved, but his silence never seemed misplaced. Katya lived somewhere between the two, caught in an awkward middle ground, always second-guessing when to speak and when to keep still. More often than not, her choices fell flat.

 

From the depths of the house came a baby’s cry, sharp and plaintive, carrying up through the floors until it reached her. Katya, seated on the wooden floor with her back pressed against the far wall, let out a long groan. Wearily, she pushed herself upright. She knew the crying would fade soon; it always did, but its persistence had become part of the house’s daily rhythm. 

 

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But that moment belonged to another life, six years gone now. Katya had to remind herself she was eighteen, tucked far from civilization and surrounded by the uncanny creaks and calls of strange, half-wild beasts. She closed the mailbox with a heavy frown, disappointment tightening around her heart like a fist, wringing it dry of whatever hope still lingered there.

 

Even Linde had forgotten her nameday. And not just any, her eighteenth. The anger rose quickly, sharp words gathering on her tongue, venomous retorts she could imagine unleashing against them all. Yet the more she indulged the thought, the worse she felt, spiraling until she caught herself, sullen eyes drifting to the line of trees. She knew the truth. This exile, this silence, was her own creation. A prison built of stubborn choices. A coward’s retreat. But first, she had only been a child, and even now, though nearly grown, she still longed to hide. In the forest’s hush, when the only sound was the hollow hoot of an owl, that longing returned with painful clarity.

 

And in this new place, whenever people asked about her past, she wanted to vanish. For there was nothing in it she wished to share. In every reflective surface, still pools, windowpanes, the shifting glass of wine, she saw her mother’s face staring back, pale and ghostlike. She longed instead for her father’s features, but the truth was inescapable: her face was her mother’s, more and more so as she edged toward womanhood.

 

So, faced with the raw fact that no one had reached out, Katya resolved to act for herself. That evening, she sat with pen and ink, drafting and discarding letter after letter, disgusted with her false starts. At last, after hours bent over the page, she found words that were simple, polite, and, if not entirely bare, at least honest enough. In the act of writing, something within her loosened. A single thread pulled free from the tangled skein of her heart, releasing with it a fragile breath of relief.

 

The next morning, beneath a cloudless sky, Katya fastened the letter to a hawk and watched it vanish into the blue. She still wanted solitude, her quiet cocoon of forest life, but perhaps now she could carry it with a lighter heart. Perhaps she could stop punishing herself.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 ༄.°

Spoiler

OOC:

A song to keep you guessing

 

Please do not metagame this info <3