Fake Princess
CHAPTER 18
I wandered around in the woods alone, clutching a basket, staring back at my shoulders anxiously whenever I heard a broken twig or rustling of leaves. Several times I managed to find the plant she wanted, but not because of my aunt's teaching but thanks to my memory of the conversation with the palace gardeners.
However, sometimes looking for plants in the forest is like a gift when compared to the dyeing process. At least, during the forest I was often alone, which I liked more during the first days of my exile.
It felt a lot more terrifying while sitting under Aunt Vania's fierce gaze as she tried to convey various secrets to create clear & strong colors. Beyond her expectations, and I must admit, beyond my expectations as well, it seems that I am less talented at dipping.
Although it is easy and I can remember the amount of mordant that must be used with the bark of the black tree or the steps needed to turn ragwort into a dark yellow dye liquid, I could not tell if the materials were already attached to the woolen cloth.
I've gotten used to learning almost everything that tutors teach me quickly, and these new limitations frustrate me. This also caused Aunt Vania to sigh more often.
In the evening, we returned home for dinner. After the meal, Aunt Vania taught me one of the endless tasks to do in a household that did not employ maids. My hands, already peeled and changed color due to the dye, immediately felt pain and blisters.
I learned to sew in addition to beautiful embroidery, cut wood & move it from the pile behind the house to the fireplace, scrub pots & pans, keeping the fireplace burning flat, stacking wool threads inside a small shed in the corner of the main room, & many other things.
Aunt Vania hires me to exhaustion every night. The fact that Aunt Vania did as much as I did, even more, didn't make me feel better.
However, you could say, maybe a schedule as dense as this is better than other possibilities, because if my body aches and my head continues to spin trying to remember how to prepare stews or porridge, because if my body is painful and my head continues to spin trying to remember how to prepare stews or porridge, at least I have a little time to mourn the life I no longer have.
I find it strange, considering how focused my mind is on trivial tasks I do, so whenever I start to think of Devan, or King & Queen, I think, I could force myself to concentrate on the pot or axe in my hand.
However, no matter how much I try, I can never fill the void inside of me. Sometimes, I find myself wiping an empty spot on the inside of my arm, just below the elbow curve, where my birthmark used to be.
I wonder if Diana had also observed the passage, had the birthmark appeared on her hand while it disappeared from my hand, or had the witches left the birthmark on her hand despite being in disguise.
I wonder if I can stop missing that birthmark, miss my life.
Maybe I'd be more receptive to this new situation if I felt some kind of connection with my aunt. Aunt Vania, I soon realized it, not a warm woman.
Aunt Vania greets the villagers quite kindly & offers help if requested, but she has no close friends, & never visits the inn to relax in the sitting room & talk like many people do.