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"I'm going out now Trisha!"
The loud voice of her flirtatious sister caused Trisha to wince, as she pricked a finger with the sharp end of her tiny needle. Her sister practically danced across the floor, with the grace of a doe from the forest, something Tisha never seen, nor did she believe would see. The loveliest of ladies, with mean kissing the tips of her long delicate fingers. Trisha looked at her own fingers, which were the fingers of a woman who stayed home and worked all day instead of hosting parties like rich young ladies would.
She was a seamstress, and a caretaker, all rolled into one. Every day one of her brothers would earn a rip or a tear from hard labor in the farm, and every morning and night she would spend her time mending these rips or tears. And when she's not doing that, she is waking the children, sending them off to school, one by one, and tending to her second eldest sister's children, wherever she may be at the moment. It seemed years since she ran off with that con man, who insisted he was an honest adventurer. He seemed foreign, strange, and altogether untrustworthy, with that hidden smirk written across those bearded lips. Three children, she had left her, each far more terrible than the last. Often did her family give her trouble whenever they wailed hours into the night, and neighbors too, who beat at the doorway to announce their displeasure with the largest group of related peoples that mankind has seen. Hardly did she ever get to produce a dress or skirt for her own pleasure, leaving her to her dull and mangy dress and veil which she fashioned on a hot summer's night. It was with this veil that she hid her face from society.
Roundly angled, a flat wort or two on her chin, dull brown eyes with bags forming under them, and an untidy mess of wavy brown hair. For her, to look at oneself in the mirror each day was a tragedy. As she looked upon her dancing doe of a sister, she wondered what faraway land she might have been borne to obtain such beauty. Every single person in her family was hardy and strong, it did not make sense to her how such a roughly built tree can produce such a flower. To say that she was jealous was a vast understatement. There were many times in her life that she would try on her sister's dress to see if wearing it would magically transform her body. But alas, she would only discover, much to her dismay, that her sister's clothes did not fit.
"Where will you be heading sister? If you don't mind me asking."
"Ooooh", responded Alfinia with a coy smile, "A place, a special place, in a special area at a special time."
"Will you be seeing that daredevil of a man again?" Trisha asked, ignoring her sister's playful mood. She was afraid she'd have to mend another dress tonight.
"Oh no, sister. Where do you get such silly ideas?" The playful doe engaged herself in picking a flower from the vase by the window, testing to see which flower would look good with her outfit. "I am single" she insisted. Trisha rolled her eyes at this, and sighed quietly to herself as her sister exited the home, which was built on manpower alone by her great grandfather. She hoped that she wouldn't go out to search for crystals, her sister's natural curiosity and naivete had no bounds. Surely one of these days she would cause great harm to herself and her family, like the second eldest Pamilia once did. Soon her brothers would awaken, and head out into the fields to do their work. She was not yet done mending the eldest brother, Kel's work shirt yet, and although she knew that he was kind to his sisters she did not want to disappoint anybody. As her father once told her, "Honor, above all else, must be kept sacred." But no matter how much she cared for her family, she did not want to stay in the house for long.
When Pamilia was still inside the house, she used to tell stories that she heard from men she messed around with. They were tales of adventure, of vast mountain ridges and exotic beasts. Trisha had never looked at a mountain before, so it was curious to her to here such tales. Sometimes, on her way to the market to fetch some food for her family, she heard old drunk men tell of their adventures to skeptical pedestrians. Sometimes she would stop by to listen, before the other man would shoo her away.
Ever since her mother died, it has been hard to realize these dreams. She found work at a local sweatshop where she found decent pay for schooling, but it was becoming more and more of a bearing on her shoulders to continue her studies. How long would this kind of life continue, and when will things begin to change?
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