Chapter 14

The days here I spend simply. I wake up, I stare out at the sky until sundown, and occasionally people would try and talk to me, sometimes they would try to lift my veil to see my face, that's when Nicia would step in and take me away. No one here especially can know my identity, I can't bare to see their faces of happiness turn to disgust, revolt and loathe. Once the sky turns hues of orange and pink, and the sun is blinding, and the breeze picks up, I get ready to perform. I never take off the earrings he gave me, sometimes I braid my hair, sometimes I don't. The days that I don't, I feel a lot lighter and I feel free. But then again, sometimes I get flashbacks of the times Kallias and I would be dancing under the moon lit sky, and I feel restricted, I feel chained to our memories.

Now Nicia sings for me and every now and again, I get a glimpse of a thought, and I wonder when Caelestis will come back. And I wonder if it would be okay to stay another day.

I'm gifted with applauses and singing praises, and the children would run around me. I smile but I'm unable to laugh, or comfort them. At times I'd walk past the stalls and I'd glance at a harp, wrecked and hidden away. I'd image it's melody to be a graceful resonance, dancing through the air like the glistening of moonlight on the surface of a tranquil oasis, and it's notes tiptoeing across the water, leaving gentle ripples with every step. I image her to sound like a soothing lullaby a mother would sing to her child at the dead of night.

The man who owns the stall is a man whose name I still don't know. I see him often sitting in the corner of the tent whilst I'm performing. He has the look of a war veteran, not too old, but rough. His umber hair cut short and straight, and a black patch covering his left eye. His right eye droops, and from his physic I can tell he's not to be messed with. He walks with his head low, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and a cigar in his mouth at all times. I've never heard him speak, nor has anyone else. He lives in solitude, and his stall overflow with relics.

Perhaps he's in a similar situation to me.

I spend my evenings conversing with Nicia until it's time to be alone once again, and spend the night reflecting, and asking myself questions, unsure of whether they have answers or not.

When I'm alone is the only time I take my veil off. The only time I take deep breathes. The only time I can fully open my eyes and take in the view. It's strange. The desert looks the same from all angles, empty, but looking out from within the village gives it a sense of belonging. That it's not just sand void of emotion. Perhaps it's the light from the lamps filled with fireflies, or the gentle hums of the people sleeping.

It creates a sense of hope for this land.

Truthfully, I'm alone now, but really I've simply always been alone. I believe in happiness, for the reason that it is the whole basis of faith. We believe to be happy. I like to think that the whole reason that everyone here is happy, is because they believe, regardless of what faith. They believe in the illusion of happiness. The unrequited war that lives on, is simply hidden and regulated events to them, censored to keep them happy.