Welcome to our new guest writer, Phoenix Illing! Phoenix is a newly graduated high school student, and their interests include writing, reading, baking, spending time outside, and playing with their dog. They have been writing since they were eight years old, but only in the past year have they really seriously written pieces. They try their best to represent minorities that they don’t often see represented, and they want to draw awareness to mental health issues. Phoenix uses they/them pronouns.
Many thanks to Phoenix for sharing their story with us. "Adira & Wyetta" is being released in two parts. Scroll down to read Part 1. Come back next week to read part two.
TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains sexual and physical abuse, self-harm, suicidal ideation, and attempted suicide.
Image Description: A mist sits heavily around a castle atop a craggy hill. A stone bridge leads to the front entrance. Round turrets reach up toward the sky.
Credit: Cederic Vandenberghe / Unsplash via Webador
Adira & Wyetta (Part 1)
To what ends will you go for salvation?
Once upon a time, in a land called Chess, there was a forest, trees like sentries standing watch. A lake was cradled gently in a mountain’s strong arms at its edge. A town was located across the lake from the mountain, forever peering up at the castle perched on the mountain top. In this town, there was a girl. She was just like almost every other girl in her town, except for that she had even less money yet still found ways to be positive and not dwell in the dark pits of despair; for she knew that doing so would only hurt her more.
She was out from dawn to dusk searching for work. Her mother picked up and washed dirty laundry from those who could afford to waste money on some poor lady in the bad part of town. The washerwoman’s daughter, Adira, we shall call her, was a child small for her age. She was mocked for this, along with her shabby clothes and lack of shoes.
She was happy, however. She had a loving mother, a caring brother, and a sturdy if thoroughly patched roof over her head. Her clothes were well-worn, but that just made them more comfortable. The other children teased her, but her brother’s laugh brightened her day. She was bad off, sure, but she was happy. Hard work made stolen moments of leisure even more enjoyable. When she would look back on her childhood, she would remember nothing but contentment. She’d erase the torment from other children, instead remembering memories of her brother—splashing in the creek, rolling down hills, climbing trees.
Her mother, the washerwoman, was widowed when Adira was young. She searched for love again for a few years before abandoning hope of finding a man to replace the love of her life. She instead filled that hole with love for her children. She did whatever she could for them, often working long hours to delight them with a new toy, or a book.
For several years after she gave up hope of loving again, she met a man from the very best part of town. In fact, he wasn’t located in town, but instead resided on the mountain top inside the castle. He was the crown prince, the only son of the current king, who was a widower himself. The prince had never been in love before, but the moment the washerwoman arrived on the palace steps to return the now clean and neatly folded laundry, he was smitten. He saw how hard the washerwoman worked and knew that she would make a good wife. His name was Julius Borden Rosetti, but most everyone called him Borden. In time he would become the most feared person a certain girl named Adira would ever meet.
Years passed. Prince Borden married the washerwoman; the prince because he always got what he wanted, and Adira’s mother because she saw an opportunity to make her children’s lives better. In the beginning of their marriage, Prince Borden took no notice of her children. The merest nod towards acknowledgement he gave them was giving their mother money to buy them new clothes. The money didn’t come for free, of course. In exchange, the washerwoman had to be obedient and at his beck and call. He had her do the odd jobs even the servants refused to do. Adira’s mother didn’t actually care for the prince, and the prince only saw the woman as a tool to be harnessed.
The washerwoman tried to escape her toxic marriage several times, taking her children by their hands and fleeing when the sky was a deep black, stars strewn across it like spilled salt. She’d hide out in the monstrous cave in the towering mountain, thinking she was safe amongst its forbidding peaks and sharp edges. They’d last a few days before they once again grew so hungry that Adira’s mother would return them to the palace, believing that it was what was best for her children. After all, the prince couldn’t be nearly as bad as she remembered. He took them back each and every time. Adira can only speculate what would have happened if her mother decided not to return one of those times.
Adira’s mother began shaking uncontrollably whenever she thought of the prince. She started experiencing nightmares, Borden haunting her even in her dreams.
Adira never really knew what became of her mother; she just disappeared one day when Adira was on the brink of adolescence, leaving her and her brother alone with the twisted prince who stalked the halls. Right after it happened, Adira believed that her mother had withered up into dust. As she grew, her theories became more elaborate and mature. Her mother had been rescued by a kindly stranger, she had successfully run away, she’d been slaughtered by the prince amidst a violent fit of rage. Only when Adira reaches her late teens, having blossomed into a striking woman, does she develop a theory that she recognizes as the truth. Her mother killed herself to get away from the toxic clutches of Borden, no longer a prince, but a king, due to the unfortunate death of his father. This is when Borden’s eye snags on her, and she finally knows what her mother was experiencing. She probably had filled her apron with stones and jumped in the lake; a sentiment Adira can now share.
He haunts her every moment--both awake and asleep. There is no escape, though she desperately tries to in every way imaginable. His leering gazes and aggressive comments are scathing and cut her deeply. She has taken to hiding in the woods near the lake, in her own hidden space carved in the universe. It does not deter his advancements, yet so far he hasn't managed to find her. There were several close encounters, but she always managed to evade capture.
The worst parts are the inescapable nights she must spend in the castle, the chill off the lake much too abrasive to spend nights near. Almost every night, Borden slips into her room, ready to begin another night of torment. He claws clumsily at her, choking her with his presence. She hardly dares to breathe lest he think she's succumbing to his advancements, which will only fuel his drive further. She longs for her brother, deemed burdensome and worthless and cast aside like a worn out pair of boots. She longs for her mother, dead from her own hand. She longs for her childhood, too quickly grown out of. She wishes she could join her family with all of her being, yet she knows that that will never come true.
It really isn’t that hard to make yourself less beautiful. Adira hoped that once her beauty was gone, Borden’s interest in her would dim like the dying light of a candle. All it required was a knife from the kitchen and a moment of solitude to do it.
Holding her arm out over a basin, she forces herself to slash her arm in several places. Blood speckles the bowl, swirling down off the walls to the bottom where it begins to pool in a puddle of red. She does the same with her other arm, then along her legs and hips, and finishes by hurriedly chopping off all her hair, as short as it could go. The harsh pain is lemon-bright and Saints it feels good. It makes Adira finally feel for the first time since moving into the castle. She relishes in this welcome distraction, watching the rivers of red wind their way down her dark arms, rivers of rose petals against chocolate.
There, she thinks. Let’s see how he’ll react. See if he will still treat me as an object for his pleasure.
It doesn’t take long for Borden to remark and snarl in disgust. It doesn’t deter him, yet instead fuels his aggression and passes at her. “What in Saints’ names is wrong with you, girl? Have I not provided you with all you could desire? Have I not rescued you from the grasp of poverty? Have I not looked out for your every need?” Adira continues stoically staring at the ceiling, detaching herself as she has gotten so good at. This only infuriates Borden further. “SPEAK you wretched girl! I as your king command you to SPEAK.”
Adira does not deign this with a response. Borden slaps her across her face. She is off in the labyrinth of her mind, vacant and empty. He pummels her across her ribs, her face, her arms. He climbs on top of her, slamming her against the floor. Adira just stays in her little sanctuary–the edge of the sea. The wind whips her once again long hair up about her face, the sharp sting and smell of salt in the air coats everything. The pale green waves thrash against the rocks below, foaming and spitting, landing little sparks of water across her skin. She is completely shut off from the outside world.
One day, Borden calls upon her in the middle of the day, requesting her presence in his throne room. She never had cause to enter this room before, and finds it to be suitably intimidating. A long maroon rug the color of blood outlines the path up to Borden’s throne, which itself is raised on a dias. Tapestries soften the walls, muffling any stray word that may try to escape. The room is dark, thick curtains covering the windows. Instead, the walls are lined with lit torches, casting twitching shadows and flickering sparks flying.
He dismisses his guards.
“So, my dear. I bet you’re wondering why you’ve been called before me today.”
Adira doesn’t respond, just dips her head a little in comprehension.
“It has come to my attention that you’ve reached the age in which you should wed. And despite the pleasure it is to have you in my company, I have found what I think would be a fairly good match.” He gestures to his side. A man steps out from behind the throne, bowing deeply to the king.
"My king, most splendid ruler all across the Kingdoms, it is an honor to be in your presence.”
Of course. The prince was an asshole. Only the worst praised Borden. Or he could just be sucking up, hoping to plant himself in Borden’s good graces. But Adira was pretty sure it was the former. “Any truly loyal follower is welcomed with open arms. The pleasure is all mine. I truly appreciate your willingness to cooperate. I know Adira can be hard to handle…” And it was just like Borden to act as if she wasn’t right in front of him. Typical. But she once again retreats to the edge of her bluff, staring out over the sea.
It is only later, once Adira and the prince are alone together, does he reveal where his alliances truly lie, casting his intentions in stark relief. So she comes up with an escape plan. She wrote a letter and sent it out to the post.
Adira fled to the forest; the need to just get away was so immense that she didn’t care where she went. The branches grasped the sky with empty fingers, trying to claw their way out of the depths, just like her herself. She ran deeper and deeper, branches scratching her arms, thorns grabbing her hair like reaching hands, half hoping that she’d get lost and never find her way out. The trees seemed to be closing in on her, trying to capture her in their strong arms, a labyrinth of clawing fingers. Tears slipped out, splashing on the dirt in her wake. When she could run no farther, she crashed down to her knees, no longer trying to resist the fear, the anger, the hatred, the wretched twistedness of it all; the tears coming faster and faster. She curled up at the base of a particularly steady, determined looking cedar, cradling her face in her hands.
“I could have killed you; you know.” The voice floated down from the depths of the tree.
This startles Adira into silence. “Then why didn’t you?” She wipes the remnants of her tears from her face.
A girl around Adira’s age drops out of the tree like a star falling from the sky. She wears dirty jeans and a tattered black shirt, complementing her dark skin. Her hair is neatly braided, much at odds with the rest of her appearance.
She gives Adira a hard stare, head cocked to one side. “I just took one look at you and knew that you were too strong to give up so easily.”
Adira glances up in surprise. “I didn’t give up on anything.”
“Then why did you hire me to kill you?”
Adira gapes at her. “How, what…?“
“Oh, come on; you really think someone else hates you enough to send me to kill you? Rival kingdoms pity you for putting up with that ass in the palace. I don’t blame you for wanting to die, but I’m not going to be the one to kill you. Please don’t give up. When I looked down on you last night, I don’t know how, but I just felt that you were not ready to die.”
“I didn’t give up! The world was the one that gave up on me! It has taken everything good away from me, leaving me in a nightmare with a monster. If you want to know the real reason I hired you to kill me, it’s because I finally had hope of freedom.”
The assassin gasps. “Wow. Your life was about to turn around, so you figured that it was the perfect time to die.”
Adira hung her head. “It turned out that Borden arranged a marriage alliance with a nearby kingdom, but only because it would look suspicious if he didn’t. Unfortunately, the prince is loyal to that jerk. My life wouldn’t change at all. I don’t want to get married, and I don’t even know if I even like men.”
“So; what are you going to do about it?”
Adira stares at her. “There is nothing I can do. I don’t have any money to run away, and I hardly know what I’d do once I was free. Even if I did escape, his guards would always hunt me down.”
The assassin stares hard back at the princess, widening her eyes in disbelief. “Are you that lacking of imagination? You obviously find some reason to give him to banish you from the palace, and thus break the marriage alliance.”
“But where would I go…?”
The assassin releases an exasperated sigh and crosses her arms. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with some jerk controlling you, be it Borden or his new marriage-alliance jackass? If you stay, you will be miserable for the remainder of your life. If you leave, you may actually find some joy. You may even find someone to love and who loves you.”
“But… where would I go?” Adira meekly asks.
“Oh, my dear Saints! I have connections. You won’t be recaptured. You won’t be without a safe place to stay. You will be able to live the rest of your life away from patriarchal assholes. I don’t want to pressure you into a decision, but are you ready to live the life you want, or not?”
Adira blinks, her eyes connecting with the assassin’s. She finds solace in the depths of her caramel gaze. Something stirs within her, upsetting her usually assured manner.
“I’m Wyetta, by the way,” The assassin says.
“I’m Adira.” She smiles shyly, blushing.
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