Grief Changes People

It was a normal late-spring day. The sun was warm, even as it had begun to sink lower in the sky. Birds flew overhead, chirping a beautiful song. People were wandering the streets, coming in and out of the shops with arms full of packages. On any normal day, Tallulah would be manning the front counter of her fathers shop, checking customers in and doing her best to upsell them on the newest inventions her father had been working on. But today wasn’t a normal day. Today was her birthday.

She loved working at the shop. She spent every moment she could helping her father with his inventions, deciding how to optimize the arcana within them, and tweaking them until they were perfect. She had been doing it since she was a child, so she insisted they had to open the shop for at least a little while, even on her birthday.

The regulars, the people who came in all the time, wished her a happy birthday as they entered. One of her favorites, Mr. Alexander, even brought her a cupcake before wandering off to find her father.

By the end of the day, she had a small stack of gifts from their regulars sitting on the side of the front counter. It was turning out to be the best birthday she had ever had.

“Is Shiloh visiting today?” She asked, hoping to be able to see her older brother. Shiloh had moved out when she was just eight years old. He was ten years older than her, and had a tendency to forget she existed. She loved him, though. She was pretty sure he was the coolest person she had ever met.

“He got held up in Solaris,” her father said, turning to her with sympathy written all over his face. “He sent a package, though. I have it back home.” Tallulah couldn’t help the way her shoulders slumped at the information. She was really hoping to be able to see her brother today.

Oh, well. At least there’s next year, she thought. Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Sorry, Lullah. I know you really wanted to see him. He’s just been busy.”

“I know,” she nodded. “That’s okay. At least I got to see everyone else,” she said, smiling. “That’s all I need.”

The rest of the walk back home was uneventful. They stopped at a small booth to get some dinner, her father bought her a new necklace, and then they reached their small house on the outskirts of Balar.

Her parents had purchased the house just after they had gotten married. Her father had told her the story so many times she could recite every step of their lives. They were young, Shiloh was only 3 months old, but they scraped together enough for this little two-bedroom cottage only steps from the docks. Her mother had always loved the ocean, and her father was never one to say no to her. When Shiloh was ten, they found out they were going to have another baby. They were thrilled. Shiloh willingly gave up half of his bedroom to make space for the nursery, talking about how he would look after ‘his baby’ when his parents were asleep. They filled a drawer with baby clothes and prepared, much more ready this time than last.

When she was born, though, everything went downhill. It was too early, months too early, and she just wasn’t ready. The healer tried her best, but there was only one option; have the baby now and do everything they can to keep them both alive. Shiloh went to stay with the neighbors while her father ran around gathering anything the healer said they needed; towels, washcloths, another bucket of water, ice. Anything, he had said, for them to be okay.

Tallulah was born in the early morning of May second. Her father said she was so small she couldn’t even wear the hat her mother had made. And, she didn’t cry, either. Just came into the world silent and turning blue. The healer whisked her away, into the kitchen, where she worked to get her lungs moving. Her father stayed with her mother and the healers apprentice, who was trying to keep her mother conscious.

In the end, Tallulah was held by her mother only for a few minutes before she was whisked away again. The healer and apprentice worked all day and night, but her mother was just too tired. She just couldn’t hold on anymore. Tallulah was taken to a nearby children’s ward to have around-the-clock observation while she grew stronger. And Shiloh spent a month with the neighbors, only visiting with his father for a few hours each day.

Tallulah had the feeling her brother blamed her for taking his mother from him. He was always distant, never allowing himself to get attached. He was nothing like his father described him when he was a child; naming and feeding stray cats so they could feel loved, bringing flowers to their mother each day, and talking to the baby bump every night before bed. Grief changes people, her father had always said. It takes everything good about the world and makes you scared of it.

The small cottage by the docks looked like it always did; windows dark since they had been out all day, wildflowers waving back and forth in the breeze, and shutters desperately in need of a new coat of paint. The chimney was cobbled together with different materials, since it had been in need of repairs multiple times, and it looked like it would blow over at any given moment. Tallulah loved this house. She loved how worn down it looked, because it was more unique that way. In a way, the house was just like her; the same as the last time her mother saw it, but older.

Inside, they went around and turned on every lamp. The room filled with a warm, orange glow as the flames inside each flickered. The rug in the sitting room was worn and torn in some places, but she loved it all the same. Her father led her to the couch and sat her down, carrying a few small packages to sit in her lap.

“Happy birthday, my darling,” he said softly. She grinned and tore into the first, revealing a well-made leather bracer. There were slots for small tools to slide into them, so she could keep them close while helping her father in the shop. It was a perfect fit when she tugged it on, allowing her to move her arm freely.

The next gift was a pair of new shoes; the light green canvas still bright from being unused. Her old pair was worn in and was developing holes in the tops and sides. She had been trying to save up for a new pair with what she earned from the shop, but now she could use that money for something else.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said excitedly, nearly jumping at her father to hug him. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her back, holding her close for a moment. She pulled them on, testing how they fit and walking back and forth through the room a few times. They were perfect.

“There’s one more,” he said, nudging the final both towards her. It was smaller with no paper wrapped around it. The box itself was a black velvet, soft to the touch. When she opened it, she found a small silver ring resting inside. There was a purple gemstone inset in the metal, glistening in the firelight.

“It was your mothers,” her father said softly. “She had always talked about passing it on to her daughter. She wanted you to have it.” Tallulah could feel tears beginning to fill her eyes, blurring her vision. She slipped the ring onto her finger. It was too big, but it was so beautiful that Tallulah couldn’t feel bothered to worry about it.

Before she could respond, a loud crash sounded from outside of the cottage. It wasn’t too abnormal; they lived on the coast, and sometimes ships misjudged the rocky outcroppings nearby. The shouting that followed wouldn’t have been abnormal, either, except they weren’t speaking the common language.

Tallulah watched her fathers expression change, shifting into something more serious. She hadn’t ever seen him look like that before.

“Go to your room,” he said quietly, standing up off of the couch and moving towards the front door.

“But, dad-”

“Tallulah, I need you to just listen to me,” he said, his voice low. “Go to your room and don’t come out until I say.” She realized then what that expression was.

Fear.

She took the stairs up into her bedroom two at a time. She didn’t dare to turn on any lights, sitting down next to her bed and trying to breathe as quietly as she could. She heard the door open downstairs, and then her fathers voice in that other language. It sounded wrong.

She couldn’t tell what was happening, but then there was a thump and a groan of pain. Heavy footsteps moved quickly downstairs, and fear shot through her body at the realization; they were in the house.

She moved to her closet, trying to be as silent as possible, hiding herself behind the door. She tucked herself into the back corner, pulling her clothes in front of her as well as she could.

The footsteps continued, stomping through the house. Crashing and shattering sounded from each room, and then the footsteps advanced up the stairs. Tallulah held her breath as the door to her room rattled. She had locked it, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t gain entry. Something slammed against it once, then twice, and then she heard the door hit the opposite wall.

They were in her room.

She heard one set of footsteps move around, throwing things as they did. She listened as what had to be her jewelry box shattered on the floor, followed by the books she had piled on her desk. Something liquid poured onto the ground. They had to be looking for something, she thought, if they didn’t want to take any of her jewelry.

The footsteps approached the closet and stopped. The door opened, and Tallulah froze. She could just make out a large man, with swords strapped to his back, standing in the light. The smell of alcohol hit her, and she fought the urge to gag. She hated that smell. A voice called from outside the room, and he turned to look at it. He spoke back, his voice low and dangerous, and a response once again came. He turned to walk out, leaving the door ajar as he did.

The stomping moved down the stairs, to the door, and then they were gone. Tallulah didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare to even breathe too deeply. What if they came back? What if someone was downstairs, waiting for her?

What had happened to her father?

The voices returned a moment later, though they stayed outside. One of them laughed, and then a whooshing sound erupted from the front door. Then, crackling. The voices retreated again, but the whooshing and crackling didn’t. It got louder, it spread.

She still didn’t move.

Smoke filled her room. Then the smell of fire. They had set the house on fire.

Her feet found momentum, then. She propelled herself out of the closet, overwhelmed by the smell of smoke and the heat. The smell of alcohol got stronger and she stepped in a puddle. They had poured alcohol everywhere to burn the house down.

The smoke threatened to suffocate her, forcing her to crouch under it to breathe. She needed to get out of here, and fast.

She moved towards the stairs, gazing down them. Her father was laying at the base of them, unmoving. Blood was trickling from his head, dripping onto the floor. His neck was bent at an awkward angle, and his eyes were open, staring blankly towards the ceiling.

He was dead.

She choked on a sob as she watched the flames reach him, jumping across his body and filling the house with the smell of burning flesh. Her father was dead, and he was being burned with the house.

She would be burned with the house if she didn’t get out, now.

Her legs moved before she could think any more, running towards the window in her room. She could see figures moving away from the house, but they were far enough away, she couldn’t make any of them out. She doubted they would be able to see her jump.

She threw open the window and squeezed through the opening, balancing on the ledge. The fire continued to advance, moving up the stairs rapidly. She could feel the heat from it at her back.

The ground below the cottage was rocky and uneven, but it was better than being burned alive. She took a deep breath and jumped. For a moment, she was weightless, and then she hit solid ground. Her ankle twisted painfully, breaking with a crack. She fell forward, scraping her hands and knees on the rock.

She turned around to watch the cottage she loved be engulfed in flames, the heat radiating towards her even as she backed away. Tears slipped down her cheeks, blurring her vision.

Her father was dead. Her home was gone. She had nothing else.

She turned towards where the men had disappeared, down a path by the ocean. If they could come in and kill her father, destroy her home, and walk out unscathed, then she was going to do something about it.

Grief changes people, indeed, Tallulah thought. But I am not going to be scared. I am going to be angry.