Tale 44- The Boy and the Boat

 She awoke in the familiar field of white chrysanthemums, staring down. They were pure, beautiful flowers which seemed to glow with a shining, internal light. Staring down at the flowers by her feet, she realized she was no longer wearing shoes, but instead long black stockings, which made her stand out against the white. A splash onto one of the nearby chrysanthemums startled her, the girl watching as the bud turned pink, beginning to be consumed by the intensity of lust and desire. Frightened, she stepped back, but the droplets followed her. At that moment, the Traveler realized just how cold she felt, and discovered she was once again stripped of her cloak, instead having been dressed in a tight pink dress, one which barely reached her thighs and squeezed her waist far too tightly. Her shoulders were left uncovered, explaining why she was so cold, and her arms were barely protected by thin, opaque warmers, which only reached the length of her forearm. Shivering, she pulled them over her hands, before watching as more droplets fell down onto the flowers. She held a hand out- it wasn’t rain, so she began to try and see why they were turning pink. Her hand traced the edge of her dress by accident, a drop landing on her covered palm. She stared down at it, feeling a wave of nausea pass over her. She…she was the reason that everything would soon be consumed and dripping with lust. Taking a shaky breath, the Traveler decided to try and head in a different direction, considering the field seemed endless but last time she’d managed to find a gate. Walking along, she found herself feeling introspective, since it had been so long since she’d worn anything different, and especially something as risqué as this. She felt positively queasy, like her insides were a million butterflies, all colliding and joining together like vines. Gulping, she continued to walk forward, until, far in the distance, she saw some figures. She picked up the pace, curious about who might be there with her. At best? Sarafelle, who would offer some kind words and reassurance. At worst? Marcielle, who would pin her down and do as he pleased. But since there seemed to be more than one, she had hope that the people were going to be kind, eventually deciding to run toward them despite leaving a trail of deep pink droplets. Tired, she bent over to catch her breath, before looking up and brushing her messy hair out of her eyes, staring up at the four other figures before her. The oldest one, a man wearing glasses, turned round to stare at her. Instantly, the Traveler’s heart throbbed. She knew who they were. Her father stared down at her, the Traveler meeting his eyes as her face changed from fear to joy, the girl trying to get close enough to give him and the others a long-awaited embrace. She reached out her hand- and her father slapped her across the face. 

For a moment, the girl was stunned. Raising a palm up to her scarred cheek in shock, she stared up at him. His eyes were cold and angry, not holding an ounce of love or care for her. “What the hell are you playing at?!” he demanded, grabbing her wrist and forcefully bringing her close to him. “W-what do you mean?!” she practically yelled, watching as the rest of the family turned toward her, their expressions almost exactly the same as her father. He bent down toward her. “You’ve been gone for years, refusing to visit and walking around in these sorts of clothes like a godforsaken tramp?!” He screamed, throwing her down into the buds, which began to be dyed pink. In shock, the girl nursed her already bruised wrist, rubbing her cheek as tears started to fill her eyes. The youngest chimed in. “I…I wasted so much time on someone as stupid as you! I never should have waited for you!” He cried out, the Traveler’s heart feeling as if it could shatter into a million pieces at any moment. Wiping tears that began to spill from her eyes, she tried to reason with them, but she couldn’t make a sound. Her throat felt almost as blocked as when Marcielle choked her. Still…what was worse? Being forced to dance in strings, or facing the truth that nobody, not even her family, would ever love her now? Dishonourable, wasted daughter. As the girl began to sob, the flowers around her began to entangle her, the Traveler completely crouching down on her knees, sobbing into her hands and just letting her pain consume her. Refusing to even look at her family anymore, the girl just cried, shedding tears for everything that had happened to her, and for the emotions that were twisting inside her, almost as much as the flowers that held her down. As they completely covered her, the Traveler submitted, simply letting them move as they pleased, as she was too distraught to even care.

The girl awoke, starting to sob in the dark corner of the shopping district and barely finding the strength to stand. Her legs quivered, but fortunately she had her cape to cover her shaking form. Clutching her precious book tightly to her chest, she felt tears spill down her face and decided it would be best to try and find a tale somewhere, to at least take her mind off her troubles for a little while. Searching each and every store, she found herself staring at a toy shop, where in the window she spotted a wooden dollhouse with a happy family of five inside. Sniffling, she entered, kneeling down and touching the wooden toys. She never had that many toys as a child, but it didn’t matter, because she had her brothers. As another tear rolled down her face, she took the daughter doll and pushed her out of the house, accidentally dropping her on the floor with a clatter. Though the doll didn’t break, it caught the attention of the toymaker, who walked over to see if there was something the matter. He was friendly, handing the distraught girl a handkerchief and helping her stand up, giving her a chair to sit on and gently conversing with her about how he made the dolls and toys. He then offered to tell her an interesting story he heard, the girl nodding and opening her book to the correct page, wiping her eyes and ready to write the story of ‘the Boy and the Boat.’

‘Years ago, there lived a little boy who was given a boat by his father, a sailor who was lost at sea. The young boy discovered that there was a certain magic to the little toy, and that when he spun the candle holder three times, he would shrink down to the size of a button, allowing him to clamber into his boat and sail around the lake near his home. One day, he took his little boat toward the larger river nearby, deciding to show his friends the trick and clambering in when he shrunk, showing them how small he was and how well he sailed across the water. However, the current of the river was far stronger than the lake the boy was used to, so he found himself unable to control his vessel and, much like his father, perished due to the power of the water.’

The toymaker looked down at the Traveler as she wrote, before looking past her and back toward the dollhouse. He would have given it to her, but he suspected she didn’t have the time to play with toys, even despite how young she looked. He estimated she was around fourteen or fifteen, and she looked extremely frail, as if she hadn’t eaten and barely slept. Gently, he touched her shoulder, the girl immediately recoiling, so he withdrew his hand, leading her outside and thanking her for listening to his rambles. In turn, she thanked him for his kindness, before disappearing into the nearby crowd of people.