I thought watching my children age and die had been hell itself, but I was wrong. They lived full lives. Ishani was only ten. She had a long and beautiful life ahead of her. It was torture to watch her fight.
If I left, for something as trivial as a shower, Death could take her and I would be none the wiser, with only minutes to steal her spirit back. Bring her back tome. To her mother, her father, to the side of the living.
I could recognize that I was becoming irrational, my fear overpowering all common sense, but going home was too substantial of a risk.
I’d lived my life by risks, and this was one I was not willing to make.
My back ached as I stretched it for the hundredth time today, standing to twist the sore muscles away. Piper stepped out in the hall with Regina to talk over Ishani’s newest regimen of meds that continued to make her sick.
“Elizabeth?” Ishani called out weakly, her hand rising from the sherbet tie-dyed blanket.
“I’m here,” I assured, coming to sit beside her.
She was nestled between two huge stuffed animals, one an octopus we’d bought at the aquarium last summer and the other a unicorn that appeared with a reassuring note when she wasfirst diagnosed. Both, she couldn’t live without. Smiling down at her, it was a comfort to find her brown eyes still shone with that glimmer of gold, a telltale sign that our little fighter hadn’t lost her spark.
“Where’s mommy?”
“Talking with Miss Regina, do you need me to grab her?” I stroked her forehead, right above her nose and up toward her hairline in a repetitive motion. She’d found it soothing as an infant and even now it calmed her.
“No, will you tell me a story?”
It wasn’t a surprise; she had asked me this many times as she grew older. The thing was—I wasn’t an exceptional storyteller. I’d spent many evenings wandering bookstores looking for new stories to pacify her. But sometimes I felt a strange compulsion to tell her my story, to share Astoria’s life with someone who might remember her, even if she believed it all to be fiction.
“About Astoria?” she said, peeking one eye open at me as she nestled herself further into the blankets with a shiver.
With one pout, I was defenseless against her. “Alright, where were we?”
“Her daughter…” Ishani trailed off.
I frowned. She was going to say we left off where Astoria's daughter died. “Hmm…” I pulled a chair closer and Ishani reached for my hand as I settled in, propping my feet up on the end of her hospital bed. “Beatrice passed away from a terrible sickness.”
“Like me?” she asked.
My nose pinched as I shook my head. “No, not like you. You’re a fighter.” My daughter was a fighter too, but some battles were lost before the first draw of a sword.
Ishani shrugged, her narrow shoulders moving up and down again with heavy breaths, furthering my heartbreak.
“Bea was sick and passed away. Astoria was unable to save her because she had already brought her back to life once before, and so Astoria went far, far away.” The more I spoke, the more I was certain this wasn’t a story for children. It did not have a happy ending and each detail of my life made me feel raw and exposed in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“What about her boys?”
That question pained me more than I cared to admit.
My sons were devastated when I left for London. Things were changing, too much time had passed, and I would have had to pretend to be someone in their life that I was not. It wasn’t an easy choice, but it was the right one.
“That’s a good place to start,” I murmured, glancing back at the setting sun. It was October, the nights had grown long and the days shorter. The break of sunshine waning, similar to the skies almost seventy years ago. “Leo and Arthur were sad to watch Astoria go, but they knew it was for the best. They said their goodbyes and sent Astoria off on an ocean liner to London, England. Do you know what an ocean liner is?”
She shook her head, playing with the stuffed octopus in the air.
“An ocean liner is a giant cruise ship that sails around the world. It took Astoria from New York to London.”
Her eyes lit up. “Like the Titanic?”
“Yes, like the Titanic… but without the giant iceberg,” I said with a grimace. The journey was only four days, but the experience was one I wouldn’t soon forget.
From the moment I stepped on that ship, I was enamored; it was a magnificent and giant beast, it’s opulence a luxury I did not deserve and spent a lot of time hoping the boys hadn’t paid too much for.
Leo and Arthur were devastated when I told them of my plans to leave, but they agreed I could not live my life locked up onour family estate. They were dutiful sons. Doting, loving, kind, compassionate. The curse meant nothing to them, and they never treated me as if I was anything but their mother.
