Neptune's Shadow
Crash of Two Fates
It's hard to pinpoint exactly at what moment I started to become obsessed with the sea.
Perhaps 'obsessed' is too strong a word - perhaps the ocean was more of a 'passion' rather than an obsession. Every spare moment I had was spent daydreaming about the sea and how I could possibly escape there, but that remained a very distant fantasy in my mind. No, according to my
mother it was far more important to ensure that I was betrothed - and ultimately, married.
The sea was at the forefront of my mind, and marriage was in hers.
It might have started when I was five; there was a storm, of which the waves wrecked the entire coastline of our county, and the fishing community was distraught for months. The consequences of the sheer force of the water opened my mind to exactly how much power was at large within the waves. It was the fate which decided our food source for the next few months, or even years, and it dictated the appearance of our coasts.
Or, maybe it was when I was seven years old. It was a particularly sunny day and I looked outside to discover that the whole town was by the sea. The children were playing in the sand and the adults bartered fish from the market, and when I looked further from there towards the harbour, I saw the ships coming back. Everyone gathered at the harbour; all the families, the wives were crying with happiness and their sons and daughters looked so proud, it made my heart ache to see such happiness. And when the fathers sauntered off the boat with their catch, that was the moment I felt tears prickle from my eyes, and the moment the families reunited was when the tears fell. It was so beautiful.
And then, when I was eight years old, I looked out of my window and saw a ship. It was magnificent - the rays of sunshine permeated the sails and made them glow, and the hull shone with gold. Everything about the ship was illuminated and made my heart ache for a life at sea.
And then I thought; why not?
I knew why, of course; you could say that it was my fate to resign to my mother’s wishes and live a life confined to some lords’ mansion. But it was just so hard to accept.
I admit, I could have mentioned my feelings of terror to her, but trying to gather the courage to tell your mother her worst nightmare isn't the easiest thing in the world to do.
Several times now, just before I say it, I stop short and start shivering with anxiety. My mother mistakenly assumes that I am ill every time and that I need to rest, and consequently sends me to my room to do so. Every time I try to tell her, I become afraid and end up lying in bed trying to silence my tears.
You see, it is my sixteenth birthday in two months.
Which means that I'm eligible to be married.
Being born into a prestigious family isn’t all that great when it comes to having extremely limited freedom. Surprising? I suppose not, but still, it really is hard to accept. These last few months, my eligibility has been plaguing my mind incessantly, the fear building up so much that I can’t even move. All I can do is repeat in my head: I am not afraid. I am alive. I am awake. and try to convince myself that the fact that I have my own consciousness matters.
But if I’m being forced to marry, it won’t matter for too long.
Today, the fear was worse, because my mother took me for a walk after lunch to discuss potential suitors. The word makes me sick. She brought up the names of young lords from surrounding lands, always casually, and pointing out their advantages. “Damien of Lancaster is quite a catch,” She tried to assure me. “Their land is quite extensive. Their family uses it for orchards mostly, so it will smell lovely in the summer. You can have all the apples in the world, Rose.” I knew she wanted to talk for as long as possible about suitors and such, she was walking so slowly, I barely had to move my feet when walking next to her. Or perhaps ‘gliding’ was a better word. My mother was very good at that. “Now, Rose, I would like you to have a think about the suitors I suggested, but it would be very wise to-“
“Mother, can I just not get married?”
It slipped out before I could think about it. And when I looked at my mother’s ashen face, I knew I couldn’t take it back now.
“You must,” She said, her voice strong like steel. “If you are my daughter.”
She didn’t speak again after that, not until dinnertime, when she once again reminded me of my looming fate. “You must choose,” She said, looking me in the eye.
I must choose.
Must I?
Perhaps 'obsessed' is too strong a word - perhaps the ocean was more of a 'passion' rather than an obsession. Every spare moment I had was spent daydreaming about the sea and how I could possibly escape there, but that remained a very distant fantasy in my mind. No, according to my
mother it was far more important to ensure that I was betrothed - and ultimately, married.
The sea was at the forefront of my mind, and marriage was in hers.
It might have started when I was five; there was a storm, of which the waves wrecked the entire coastline of our county, and the fishing community was distraught for months. The consequences of the sheer force of the water opened my mind to exactly how much power was at large within the waves. It was the fate which decided our food source for the next few months, or even years, and it dictated the appearance of our coasts.
Or, maybe it was when I was seven years old. It was a particularly sunny day and I looked outside to discover that the whole town was by the sea. The children were playing in the sand and the adults bartered fish from the market, and when I looked further from there towards the harbour, I saw the ships coming back. Everyone gathered at the harbour; all the families, the wives were crying with happiness and their sons and daughters looked so proud, it made my heart ache to see such happiness. And when the fathers sauntered off the boat with their catch, that was the moment I felt tears prickle from my eyes, and the moment the families reunited was when the tears fell. It was so beautiful.
And then, when I was eight years old, I looked out of my window and saw a ship. It was magnificent - the rays of sunshine permeated the sails and made them glow, and the hull shone with gold. Everything about the ship was illuminated and made my heart ache for a life at sea.
And then I thought; why not?
I knew why, of course; you could say that it was my fate to resign to my mother’s wishes and live a life confined to some lords’ mansion. But it was just so hard to accept.
I admit, I could have mentioned my feelings of terror to her, but trying to gather the courage to tell your mother her worst nightmare isn't the easiest thing in the world to do.
Several times now, just before I say it, I stop short and start shivering with anxiety. My mother mistakenly assumes that I am ill every time and that I need to rest, and consequently sends me to my room to do so. Every time I try to tell her, I become afraid and end up lying in bed trying to silence my tears.
You see, it is my sixteenth birthday in two months.
Which means that I'm eligible to be married.
Being born into a prestigious family isn’t all that great when it comes to having extremely limited freedom. Surprising? I suppose not, but still, it really is hard to accept. These last few months, my eligibility has been plaguing my mind incessantly, the fear building up so much that I can’t even move. All I can do is repeat in my head: I am not afraid. I am alive. I am awake. and try to convince myself that the fact that I have my own consciousness matters.
But if I’m being forced to marry, it won’t matter for too long.
Today, the fear was worse, because my mother took me for a walk after lunch to discuss potential suitors. The word makes me sick. She brought up the names of young lords from surrounding lands, always casually, and pointing out their advantages. “Damien of Lancaster is quite a catch,” She tried to assure me. “Their land is quite extensive. Their family uses it for orchards mostly, so it will smell lovely in the summer. You can have all the apples in the world, Rose.” I knew she wanted to talk for as long as possible about suitors and such, she was walking so slowly, I barely had to move my feet when walking next to her. Or perhaps ‘gliding’ was a better word. My mother was very good at that. “Now, Rose, I would like you to have a think about the suitors I suggested, but it would be very wise to-“
“Mother, can I just not get married?”
It slipped out before I could think about it. And when I looked at my mother’s ashen face, I knew I couldn’t take it back now.
“You must,” She said, her voice strong like steel. “If you are my daughter.”
She didn’t speak again after that, not until dinnertime, when she once again reminded me of my looming fate. “You must choose,” She said, looking me in the eye.
I must choose.
Must I?
♠ ♠ ♠
First chapter posted! this idea's been in my head for a while now, I want to know what you think! Please leave a comment :) xx