The days flew by with quiet routine. Tending the shop, preparing the stocks, harvesting herbs. The small everyday tasks that grounded Syraa before now seemed tedious. It has been a few days since she last encountered Varek. Perhaps he would come to the next market, she kept telling herself as her fingers worked on bundling herbs, grinding and chopping others, and mixing salves.

A silent curse left her lips when the tip of her knife cut into her finger.  She left a trail of blooddrops behind her while she washed it out and found a clean cloth to wrap it.

Elaina stepped in as she cursed all the herbs under her breath.

“Watch your language, my daughter,” she scolded her before she noticed the blood. “Which of our plants bled all over the floor?” she asked jokingly, but Syraa just rolled her eyes.

“I’ll clean up, I cut myself,” she grumbled. Elaina’s eyebrows furrowed at her unusually moody response despite the delightful weather outside.

She forces a smile on her lips. “Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you take a break, I’ll clean up and continue.” Syraa nodded and slowly walked away. One step led to another, and before she knew it, her hand was hovering at the attic door. She hesitated, like so many times before. She almost turned back before her hands pressed on the knob.

She glanced back, swallowing hard. Her mother never liked her snooping up there. She flinched when the door squeaked, holding her breath, listening at any movement from below. Nothing. She stepped carefully on the stairs.

The attic smelled of old parchment paper and dust. The sunlight filtered in through a small window overlooking some of the fields below. Light reflected on each tiny dust particle flying in the air. By the beam, her eyes found the object of her curiosity. A large and very old wooden chest. Every time she went near it, her mother scolded her. But she wasn’t there now to send her away.

Her fingertips brushed the old, dirty wood. It seemed like nobody has touched this chest for decades, yet it was still here, and Elaina was keeping it secret. She frowned. What are you hiding? She knelt in front of the chest. There was no key around, and no keyhole on the chest itself. Must be a magical lock.

She sighed, hopeless. Her glance found the jars sitting on the windowsill. She fiddled through them. Her old toys, small wooden figurines, building blocks, beads. Old children’s books stacked on the floor. She smiled, remembering all the tales her mother read to her, and the others she read to herself later.

Elaina’s voice snapped her out of her nostalgia. She cursed as she ran towards the stairs, but her mother met her there before she could leave the attic. Syraa bit her lips watching Elaina’s face go crimson. Their eyes locked.

“What are you doing up here?” Elaina’s voice was taut like a bowstring waiting to snap.

“Nothing, I just…” Syraa started, quiet, defensive.

“Were you snooping around that chest again?”

The accusatory tone snapped something in her.

“I wouldn’t have to snoop if you’d finally tell me what is in it!” Her voice rose, eyes burning.

“This is none of your business, Syraa, I have told you many times!” Elaina’s tone met hers in anger as she grabbed her arm and pushed her towards the stairs. Syraa ran downstairs, fuming.

“Is it my father’s things?”

“Stop asking about your father!” Elaina yelled, slamming the attic door behind her strong enough to rattle the whole house.

“Why, mum? I have the right to know!”

“He left before you were born! There is nothing for you to know!”

“Why can’t I be the judge of that?” Syraa shouted back, her face just as red as her mother’s. Her fingers curled in a frustrated fist as she paced up and down.

“I told you, my child, there is nothing about him that concerns you!” Elaina’s words cut like a sharp edge, but was laced with something more vulnerable. Like grief.

“If you hated him so much, then perhaps you shouldn’t have had me!” Syraa shot back, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

She leaned against the door, tears burning trails down her cheeks. Every fight about her father ended the same way: with silence, with pain, with walls thicker than any chest could hide.

__________

Author note:

Secrets have a way of weighing on us… What do you think Elaina is hiding in that chest?