How did legends come about? They had to be based on something, something that existed. They had to come from somewhere unless someone made them up. But aren't legends based on real-life facts? This topic was confusing.
The entire concept of legends left Simina pondering it day and night. Legends became her main focus. She didn't understand how the people who wrote and told legends got their information or apparent facts. Simina knew of legends because she loved to read books. She mainly read books about legends.
Most people thought legends were related to fairy tales. But Simina did not believe it was true. She read fairy tales, oh yes, but they sounded very different from legends. They were nothing alike and had few similarities, if any. Legends kept Simina intrigued. She fantasized about them and the magic described in legends.
Legends must be the darker part of fairy tales that the authors didn't write about. Simina enjoyed many fictional stories, but something drew her to mythical legends and folktales. Anything pertaining to or about the supernatural, she loved. It fascinated Simina to no end. She positively adored fairytales. She loved stories detailing the bravery of valiant young princes heroically trekking through all sorts of danger just to save the love of their life, the princess.
Simina wished very childishly that someone would love her like that, love her enough to save her from imminent danger. She longed to be a beautiful princess, loved and cherished by all who knew her. Simina never really believed in all of that; she knew stuff like that had never really happened. Handsome young princes didn't exist, and neither did princesses, evil witches who conjured up terrible spells, werewolves that changed during the full moon, vampires that sucked blood out of their victims, fairy godmothers who helped the princess during a time of desperate need, fairies themselves that possessed magical wands, little elves with pointy ears, or warlocks.
But Simina still liked to dream. Without dreams, what would she have? Nothing. Her mind would be empty—her life would be empty. If she wasn't at school or reading a book, she was daydreaming about all the magnificent things previously mentioned.
Because of her fascination with such things, her father constantly told her to get her head out of the clouds and start living down on the planet where reality existed. Her father highly disapproved of her reading these books but never said much to her about them. Simina knew reading about such things was one thing, but speaking of them was on a whole other level. Talking about such things in front of other people, the common public, was forbidden.
Things like that evoked a sense of fear in others because they didn't understand. People often are afraid of things they don't understand, but Simina thought nothing was odd about discussing legends. However, it completely freaked other people out. She didn't know why, though, even though these myths and legends weren't real. If these common people didn't believe such things existed, why were they so afraid? Simina knew what was real: disease, plague, famine. Those were real problems, ones she could actually physically see and not just read about. A few years ago, when Simina was much younger, the plague ravaged rampantly through her small village of Lazera. Her mother was still alive back then, but not for much longer.
A little after the plague hit the village, Simina's mother got sick from working in the Sick House, trying to nurse other people back to health. However, Simina, too, became dreadfully ill with the plague. Now, her father carried the burden of caring for them both by himself.
Simina didn't remember much during that time. The memory of her sickly, labored breathing, and the sluggish thump-bump of her heart pumping sick blood through her veins made Simina think once more of her near-death experience. She vaguely remembered dreaming of dark things moving and forming into grotesque shapes. Her feverish skin burned hot to the touch, and Simina was sure she would die.
But somehow, she survived. The rashes on her skin did not leave scars, they went away on their own, and her fever broke. Her mother, however, was not so lucky. Her mother succumbed to the disease and sadly passed. Simina grieved for the longest time, wishing it had been her to die instead of her mother, wishing she could have taken her mother's place.
But that had been five years ago, and Simina had long since moved on. She still missed her mother, but had gotten over the intense grief she used to feel at her loss. Since her mother's death, Simina's father has never been the same. Even after five years, he's never tried to remarry, though Simina has tried to persuade him to meet other women.
Simina's coping mechanism was reading books, and all those interesting stories made her feel better after her mother died. She didn't know if her father knew that, but oh well, she figured.
One of Simina's deepest secrets was to experience adventure. She secretly wished for adventure and to explore all over the planet. Other times, when Simina couldn't read, she'd go outside in her yard and pretend she was a princess, a damsel in distress in need of saving, and play with her friend Ernest, who would dress up like a prince and pretend to save her. Or he'd play the witch and try to capture her.
Despite being the age of twenty, Simina still acted like a child. She never wanted to grow; she always wanted to stay a child. She never wanted to take on the responsibilities of a grown adult woman. But her father kept telling her to grow up and stop being so childish. She had to grow up someday so she could mature. He told her to stop acting like such a child and to start acting like a proper young lady who'd get married someday and perhaps have children.
Simina was still young and wanted to act as a child for as long as possible. Even though she was twenty, she acted more like a twelve-year-old, and many village elders disapproved of her antics. Simina still wanted to be able to dream and fantasize about things. Sometimes, because of this, her father would take away all her books and not allow her to read them until she acted like a proper young lady. Usually, when this happened, she'd go find Ernest, and they'd play a game called "The Prince and The Princess." That just happened to be what she was doing right about now.
Simina ran through the woods, splashing through puddles of mud. She held the folds of her skirt as she ran, giggling like mad. Ernest chased behind her, wielding a long wooden stick as a sword.
"Come back here, princess! I won't let you get away!" he shouted. This just made Simina laugh harder. Air rushed into her lungs as the wind caressed her hair. Spots of muddy water splattered all over her legs. The soft grass tickled in between her bare toes as the fresh, earthy soil caked up in the gentle creases of her skin.
"You can't catch me! My prince will save me!" she yelled back mockingly. Ernest cackled after her.
"He can't save you; I've captured your precious prince!" Ernest wailed in a high-pitched voice; which was supposed to be a witch's voice, but a poor imitation. Simina looked over her shoulder to see Ernest gaining on her. She tried to run faster but couldn't do it in a dress.
A twig sticking out of the ground, sharp and fresh from a young tree, snagged on her skirt and tore the hem of her dress, shredding through the fabric like butter. Simina kept running, not caring that she tore it. Brief concern for her dress slipped in her mind, but then she decided to sew it up in her free time. Her father would disapprove. But Simina wasn't striving for his approval, nor anyone else's, for that matter.
"My prince will escape! He will come for me!" Simina swore, voice swelling with a fake loyalty. In the midst of her running, she jumped over a rotten, dead log of a long-ago fallen tree. She turned back to see Ernest stumble and lose his balance, but he kept going at a slower pace.
Simina slipped behind the trunk of a large oak tree, hiding from Ernest. She peeked around the side of the tree, both hands placed on either side of its large wooden trunk. Ernest had stopped running. He stood in quite a strange stance, with his legs far apart, only half standing, holding a long stick in his right hand. He squinted.
"Where'd you go, my pretty? Hm? Come out, come out, wherever you are," Ernest said in his poor witch imitation voice. Simina hid, her heart beating fast. The snapping of twigs and the crunching of dead leaves announced Ernest's approach. Simina did not move a muscle. Ernest's footsteps stopped. Simina peeked around the tree's trunk. He wasn't there. Simina widened her eyes in curiosity.
"Ernest?" she called out his name, feeling worried. As soon as she said his name, something jumped out of a tree beside her. She squealed with fright. It was Ernest, arms raised in a creepy fashion above his head, and he growled at her like a wild animal. Simina screamed and stumbled back as Ernest tackled her playfully to the ground. They rolled around for a bit, Simina giggling until Ernest finally let up. He stared at her with a wide, playful grin.
"Gotcha," he said, "I win." Simina nodded, giving up, knowing it was time to concede defeat.
"Okay, you win, you barbarian. Now get off," Simina said, shoving him in the chest as she tried to hide the smile in her voice. Ernest rolled off her and onto the ground. He huffed a huge breath of relief and began panting. Simina lay next to him, her legs too worn out and achy to get up. Simina groaned and stared up at the beautiful beams of sunlight snaking through every small crevice and gaps of the leaves of the trees around them.
Simina took a deep breath, swallowing a mouthful of fresh air. They lay there for a while just panting, catching their breath, until Ernest finally moved. He sat up and rolled to his feet. Simina sat up but did not stand. She watched Ernest climb up the base of an apple tree like a monkey to the top. He picked two apples and, with great agility, jumped down to land on his feet. Ernest plopped on the grass, flicking his wild red curls out of his eyes.
He tossed Simina an apple, which she caught with both hands. Ernest chomped into his with a crispy, satisfying crunch. Juice dribbled down his lips and chin as he draped his arm across a propped-up knee.
Simina daintily took a bite out of her apple, letting its sweet juice run across the surface of her tongue. The tartness came as a pleasant surprise as it mixed with the sweetness, creating a combination of flavors that was just right. She heard Ernest slurp his apple, and she looked up. His wide, boyish grin arrived with a set of dimples on both cheeks.
"We should play a different game sometime," Ernest suggested with a worn-out voice. He took another bite of the apple as Simina chewed and swallowed.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe we should consider growing up," Ernest told her. He dodged the glare Simina gave him. He enjoyed playing along with Simina and her games, but was growing tired of playing these childish games over and over again every time they met. Ernest knew that some physical and emotional change had come over him. He began to develop different feelings for Simina than just childlike feelings.
He noticed Simina had also undergone some physical changes lately. She looked the same as always, but something about her seemed suddenly different. He noticed her face wasn't as round as before, the sides of her body not so straight, and the swelling of her chest. Her body curved now.
Ernest noticed these changes in her but wondered if Simina also noticed them. Ernest didn't know how to explain these feelings, but he found her rather pretty. He'd heard of puberty and knew he was going through it; he just didn't know what it fully meant. Simina, however, had never heard of puberty. She didn't know what it was.
She did notice that her body was changing but paid it no mind. She also tried to ignore these new feelings and emotions she'd started feeling about herself, and the wild thoughts she often had.
Simina, ignoring Ernest's previous statement, tossed away her now-finished apple core, and wiped off her mouth as Ernest dropped his apple to the ground. Simina scooted closer to Ernest and crossed her legs.
"Can you show me again?" she asked.
He smiled and cupped his hands. "Sure."
Simina grinned eagerly as his brow knitted in concentration. Slowly, two wispy, puppet-like figures materialized in his hands. The puppet dolls resembled Simina and Ernest. The Simina doll jumped out of his hand and trotted over to her, a soft white light trailing behind her small form. Simina giggled as it jumped into her hand and waved. It squeaked, as if trying to talk, but failed.
Frowning, the little doll jumped to the ground. The mini Ernest tapped her on the back, and then the two began to dance. Simina stared in awe at Ernest's creations. He could make miniature doll versions of people with his magic. At first, when Ernest was around twelve, he could only make strange, faceless lumps with odd and bulky limbs. But after some years of practice and frequent use of his magic, he is now able to make them look more like people. Simina believed that much later he could possibly create full-sized, realistic looking people.
The mini Ernest and Simina danced for a while, but as Ernest twirled her around, they vanished in a puff of white mist. Real Ernest groaned, fatigue clouding his young features.
"I haven't eaten much today, so my stamina is low," he sighed.
"I wish I could do that," Simina huffed, picking at the dirt.
"You still can't do any magic?" Ernest looked surprised.
She shook her head. "None. Is there something wrong with me?"
Ernest patted her shoulder reassuringly. "You'll get yours. You're just a late bloomer."
"But my mother and father both had magic. My dad can help plants grow and move the ground. My mom...well, she could heal the sick..." Thinking solemnly about her mother, she wondered why her powers didn't allow her to heal herself.
"Be patient. Everything happens for a reason."
Simina opened her mouth to reply, but a familiar shout made her pause.
"Simina!!" her father called out to her. She jumped to her feet urgently.
"That's my father. I have to go."
"Bye!" Ernest called after her as she trotted away.
Simina skipped home, humming to herself as she twirled her skirt around. It grazed the tips of the flowers and grass below her. The air was pleasantly warm, the perfect temperature. Not too cold or too hot. Just right. Giggling, she swung around a tree trunk.
But then there came a snap of a twig and the crunch of brush, and Simina halted. Her neck hairs stood on end, all of her senses tingling. She didn't see anyone, but Simina knew someone was there. A cold and harsh breeze danced around her, the warmth from mere minutes ago now gone. She glanced around cautiously, a lump forming in her throat. A mysterious, cloaked figure moved between the trees, almost like it was floating. A strange, purple mist trailed after it, its movements quick and jagged.
Spooked, Simina picked up her pace. Above her the sky birthed dark and ominous gray clouds. A loud thunder rumbled and purple lightning cracked across the sky. Then the clouds released a heavy and unrelenting torrent of rain, the drops pelting down angrily. Gasping, Simina ran as fast as she could, a great terror seizing her heart. Drenched within seconds, Simina's dress clung to her skin, her feet splashing in pools of mud. Even though her bones ached and her chest burned, Simina did not stop until she arrived safely at her small cottage.
Upon entering, she slammed the wooden slat board across the door, bolting it shut. She pulled back the curtain on the small, square window and peeked out. The gloomy, bleak forest revealed nothing but soggy trees and muddy grounds.
Taking a deep breath, Simina calmed her racing heart. It was probably nothing, she told herself. Glancing down at the floor, she realized that in her haste, she'd tracked dirt and mud all over the floor from her bare feet. Spinning her head about madly, checking to make sure her father wasn't coming, she quickly scurried to the washroom to wash up and change her clothes.
Before Simina got the chance to do anything, however, she heard her father shout. Her body lurched to a stop. Darn.
"Simina, what is this mess you've tracked on the floor?! Come here, this instant!" he ordered. Simina, sulking, hung her head and droopingly walked back into the front room to her father to stand before him. She didn't dare look at him. He tapped an angry foot against the floor.
"Just look at yourself. You've soiled your nice clothes and made a mess of the house!" he scolded. Her father left for a second and returned a moment later with a bucket and a sponge. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor.
"Clean it up, now," he said. Forgetting all about her spooky experience in the woods, Simina spent the next few hours scrubbing up the floor.