Chương 3: How Can It Be Right, When It Feels So Wrong

Somewhere in the Human Realm — Summer Solstice, Middle Ages – Night of Prophecy Birth Once outside, the gentle breeze of the early summer night carried the smell of the forest. It was a clean scent, full of fresh wildflowers and hearty pine. It was a smell Matilda could never tire of. She did her best to ignore Lucy's anguished pleas. The sound mercilessly cut through the silence of the glen, tugging at her heart. She looked down at the blissfully sleeping baby wrapped securely in her arms.

Matilda could feel her heart shatter with every fall of her foot. She had no choice but to leave it up to the gods to decide the child's fate. Looking up at the moon and all its splendor, she silently prayed. May the devil take the lass if it was his, or the angels protect it if it was not. She recognized the energy surging through the forest; she could feel it deep within her old bones, just as sure as she could feel the breeze. It was the twenty-first of June; the summer solstice would reach its pinnacle soon.

While most common folk viewed it as just another day, the village elders knew better, and so did she. What some would call magic she would describe as a time when the veil between the worlds shifted just right. She had felt the thinning of the veil once before. It was something she still carried with her, despite it being so many years ago. She was barely more than a wee lass herself when it happened. Her parents had died during the plague of the century. She had found herself destitute, scared and alone.

She had felt them near, much like she did now. The fairy folk of legends and stories guided her with their whispers to the glen that she now called home. Each whisper pushed her forward, despite the exhaustion, the hunger and desperation to what would ultimately become her sanctuary. Matilda had never married or had wee ones of her own. Lucy had become like a daughter to her in the months since she arrived. The older woman had a deep affection for the girl and simply enjoyed having her around.

She was beautiful, with long dark locks and big hazel eyes. Lucy was sharp-eyed and quick-witted, ready to roll up her sleeves and tackle the hard work that always needed to be done. Despite being heavily with-child, Lucy would be out helping tend to the garden and gathering wood for the hearth. Matilda had to finally put her foot down to get the girl to stop with the heavy chores and focus on the smaller things like mending and spinning wool. It broke her heart, knowing how much Lucy wanted this child.

Matilda had made a heartfelt promise to the lass. She assured her that both Lucy and the babe could stay with her. That she would keep them both safe and that she would even help her raise the little one.

"I know ye cannot hear me, lass, but know this, I'm so sorry my sweet girl, but there is no other way," she whispered. The baby began to coo softly, crushing her heart. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"I am so sorry, little one, that your first day will end like this," she said softly as she pulled the towel from the baby's face.

"You'd be perfect if it weren't for those wretched ears." The baby opened her eyes wide. Matilda gasped, unprepared for the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen looking back at her. Those be angel eyes! Her mind reeled at the sight of them piercing the darkness, shimmering with their unnatural light.

"My goodness," she remarked.

"There is no way to hide those either," she said, shaking her head. The baby's gaze seemed to pierce right through her, as though judging her intentions.

"Don't look at me like that," she pleaded.

"I have to do it or…" she trailed off, knowing full well the child could not possibly understand a word she uttered. She replaced the towel, no longer able to look at that tiny, precious face. With each glance her heart threatened to overrule her mind. She could feel her feet twitch, pulling her back toward her cabin. She made her way farther down the winding path, through the thick pines and alders. She knew just where she would leave the infant.

It wasn't far and formed a natural cradle guarding her against wind, rain, or hungry beasts looking for an easy meal. Fate would decide what was to be for this child, not her. It wasn't her decision to make. She was merely the facilitator. Matilda convinced herself that this was the child's best chance. If she was to be honest it was her only potential path to survival. She had heard the stories of the fairies taking children, and maybe they would take this child to their world.

Matilda knew the child could never live in this world. If the other villagers saw the baby, none of them would remain alive to tell the tale. The child would prove to them that Lucy had relations with the devil himself. Those eyes, those ears, those cursed pointy ears would be the death of them all. As Matilda headed farther into the forest, a pang of guilt assaulted her as she became acutely aware of the weight of the helpless bundle whimpering in her arms.

"I'm sorry, wee lass, but your mother has already been cast out of the village by your creation. Now they will kill us all if they catch sight of you." Matilda could see her special tree up ahead, its glorious branches reaching out like a long-lost friend.

"I'm sorry, child, I truly am," she said, looking down at the bundle. Holding the child closer to her chest, she felt her heart break.

"May the fairies come and take you away, where you may at least be allowed to live." Matilda was surprised by the steady stream of tears falling from her cheeks. The heft of the guilt in her heart was overwhelming, making it difficult to breathe. She had convinced herself that fairies were real, but deep down, she knew they couldn't possibly exist. Her rational side insisted that her perceived encounter was merely a trick of a mind desperate for salvation.

In her soul, she was certain no fairies would come to rescue the babe; more likely, the child would become dinner for a hungry wolf or bear. Matilda knew that in order to leave the child behind, she must cling to the hope that the tales were true. Somehow, someway, this child would miraculously be saved. She bent over, placing the baby in the root ball. She then reached for some dead leaves and scattered them on and around the towel. At most, the leaves would help to mask the babe's scent from predators.

At the very least, they would offer a bit of additional warmth and protection from the elements. She stood up, then crossed herself, her eyes never leaving the tiny bundle.

"May God forgive me," she whispered, turning to walk away. She glanced back, fighting the urge to scoop the helpless infant back into her arms.

"If you are truly out there, please take this baby to your realm," she called out into the empty forest.

"No babe deserves to meet an end such as this," she sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek.