CHAPTER 11 – Misapprehensions

In her countless hours in the village library, Saphienne had read that elves possessed much better eyesight and hearing than many other creatures, and that most of the shorter-lived peoples considered their senses miraculous. She found the thought that someone would be so easily impressed quite amusing, though imagining how much duller the world must seem to them made her sad.

However, as she crouched on the frozen doorstep to her family home and pressed her ear against the painted wood, she found herself wishing that her hearing really was supernatural: the faint pinging of the settled snow was annoying. She covered her other ear, closed her eyes, and focused on what was being said.

“How have you been sleeping?”

Saphienne tensed. Though it was hard to tell for sure, she thought the speaker was a man, his inflection low. Was it her father?

“Better than before,” she heard her mother answer. Her mother sounded different; her voice was smaller than when she spoke to Saphienne.

There was a moment of quiet before he asked another question. “And the nightmares?”

“I’ve had less of them.” She could hear her mother shifting by the creak of her chair, and Saphienne realised the pair were seated at the kitchen table. “They’re much better.”

“How frequently?”

“Only two… this week.”

Saphienne blinked. Her mother had nightmares? About what?

Yet this was no surprise to the questioner. “Any change in their contents?”

“No,” her mother answered, then hesitated. “Well… sometimes Saphienne is in them. But they’re mostly the same. I always end up lost.”

“Is her presence good or bad?”

“Bad,” her mother sighed. “No different from anyone else.”

Was it the cold that made Saphienne shiver on the doorstep? The cold was all she could feel, in the moment.

“And outside of your nightmares,” the man went on, “how has she been?”

“She’s doing well.” Her tone brightened. “We don’t talk much now, but she’s keeping herself busy. I rarely see her at home… I like that.”

The cold, and then her anger.

Yet the man was only curious. “Why?”

“I like that she has friends. I like that she’s fitting in. I should want that, shouldn’t I?”

And then she felt only her anger. Her mother didn’t care to know her, not at all.

“Could it be,” the man challenged her, “that you don’t want her around the house?”

Her mother said nothing.

Casually, as though changing the subject, the man went on. “I’m told you’re still drinking a lot of wine.”

“Less than before.” Her mother was defensive. “And not around Saphienne. Well… not often. But it helps me sleep, if I drink a glass at night.”

“Only a glass?”

Once more, her mother was silent.

There was gentleness in his voice when he next spoke. “Less is better. Keep trying for less. Have you been using your fascinator?”

“Every day. The new exercises are helping.”

“And recreationally? How often?”

Her mother sighed. “…Every day. But I do the exercises first, always.”

This seemed to satisfy him. “Good girl. How often do you leave the house?”

“Not much, now.” A hint of reproach crept into her voice. “You know I don’t like winter. I was going for walks before. When spring comes…”

“Try to find reasons to leave the house. Speaking of which,” he said, shifting in his chair, “what about your friend?”

“…What about him?” Whether her mother was wary or evasive, Saphienne couldn’t hear, though she could tell she felt judged.

“Are you still writing to each other? Might he come to visit? It would be good for your daughter, to see him more.”

“We’re still exchanging letters. He wants to visit, it’s just that… he’s nervous.”

Now Saphienne could hear judgement from the man. “He needs to get over his nervousness and visit. He ought to visit you. And he ought to visit his daughter.”

Then Saphienne knew for certain that the man speaking wasn’t her father. The way he spoke hadn’t resembled her father, but the way her mother was speaking didn’t resemble her, either, and it wasn’t as though there was much talking when her father visited. Saphienne still remembered his last visit, more than three years ago, and her confusion at why he would come all that way to see her, only for her mother to shoo her from the house.

“I’ll ask him again,” her mother was promising, “but I don’t know if he’ll visit. I would like to see him more. Maybe when Saphienne’s older…”

“Consider the possibility of visiting him as well. Not now, of course. Some day, when you feel more… secure.”

“I can’t imagine–”

Then a voice boomed in Saphienne’s other ear, and she started, slipped, and fell over on the doorstep.

* * *

“Saphienne!” the voice repeated, worried now. “Are you alright?”

Gathering her wits, Saphienne was surprised to see Faylar coming toward her, offering his hand to help her up while blushing furiously. She shared his blush, but didn’t accept his help, standing carefully and then somewhat unsteadily — at least until she stepped away from the door.

Faylar dropped his hand, looking mortified. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“You’re forgiven,” Saphienne told him, brushing herself down. “I shouldn’t have slipped. My mother doesn’t like to shovel, so she pours hot water on the snow.”

He frowned. “But wouldn’t the melted snow just freeze into–”

“Ice.” Saphienne flashed him a frosty smile. “Correct.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“That seems–”

“Immensely stupid. Yes. But she cares about appearances.”

Faylar shifted, uneasy. “I was going to say ‘counterproductive.’”

Saphienne shrugged and folded her arms. “The whole thing is pointless, anyway. Snow isn’t exactly an impediment to travel, and only gets on your shoes if you’re in a hurry. I’ve never understood why it’s so important to keep doorsteps clear.”

“To appear welcoming,” he said, and then smiled. “I guess you’re not very familiar with that.”

Glaring at him, Saphienne realised he was trying to make a joke. “I suppose not,” she conceded with a sigh. “Though, that still doesn’t explain why my mother bothers. Nobody calls on us, or not very often.”

“Could that be why she doesn’t shovel?”

“I doubt it.” Saphienne glanced at the ice, hip throbbing. “And even if you’re right, it only makes it more likely that anyone who does visit won’t come again.”

He nodded, having nothing else to say.

“Anyway.” Saphienne looked up at him. “Why are you visiting her?”