"Witch!"
The word rang in Violet's ears as she froze, the cart she had stopped hanging in the air like a forgotten prayer. Around her, the villagers' faces twisted in fear and hatred.
"She's possessed by evil spirits!"
"Unnatural!" cried another.
"Only royal blood should have such powers!"
She could hear the villagers ranting in the midst of the confusion.
Violet woke up screaming, shivering in fright.
"Nightmare," she muttered to herself as she stood out of bed, soaked in sweat and hissing as the memories flooded her mind. She began to cry, remembering how it happened, how she ended up all alone on this mountain, sleeping in an abandoned building not far from where her family had lived.
—
They said the tide brought her to them.
Chief Nazara had been seated at the shore, watching the ocean tides and the fishermen at sea. Their laughter carried on the salty breeze as they worked together to pull up a bountiful catch. Chief Nazara smiled, his hands busy taking records of the day's work.
He stood to leave but stopped when he heard shouts from the water.
"Chief, you need to see this!" one of the fishermen called out, running toward him.
"What's happening?"
"We found a baby, washing up on the shore!"
"A baby?"
"Yes! Over there!" the fisherman said, pointing to a group gathered by the water's edge.
Chief Nazara made his way through the crowd to see a small, woven basket nestled on the ocean banks.
"What have we here?" Chief Nazara murmured, lifting the tiny basket wrapped in threadbare blankets. He gently brushed the damp fabric aside, revealing a sleeping baby with golden eyes. Violet's eyes.
"Who would abandon their child at sea?" one of the fishermen asked, his voice trembling.
"Did anyone see someone leave her here?" Chief Nazara questioned.
"No, sir," they chorused.
"And you checked the area?"
"Yes. No sign of anyone."
"What are we going to do with the baby?" another man asked.
"Keep her," Chief Nazara replied simply.
The men stared in surprise, watching as their leader turned and walked away with the child.
"I will call you Violet," he said softly.
From that moment, she was his.
Lady Maria's disapproval was immediate and enduring.
"A child of the sea has no place in the house of the village head," she declared the night he brought Violet home. Her tone cold and biting.
"Maria, she's a child. A helpless one," Chief Nazara replied, his voice steady.
"A child who doesn't belong here," she snapped, freckles glowing red with anger. "You're too soft-hearted, Nazara.
Mark my words, this will bring trouble."
Her words were prophetic in ways none of them could have imagined.
This was how Chief Nazara, the village head, found Violet, cradled in woven reeds as the tide pulled away, like a mother reluctantly leaving her child.
She was told this story countless times in whispered conversations when his wife, Lady Maria, wasn't around.
Lady Maria never approved of how Violet came to live in their home. She made sure Violet knew it, probably suspecting she was the old man's child from another woman, a secret he didn't want revealed.
Violet grew up under her frosty gaze, each glance a reminder of her unwanted presence.
"Mother, may I have some more porridge?" Violet asked one morning, holding out her empty bowl.
Lady Maria smiled sweetly, taking the bowl from her hands, only to toss it out the window.
"You ungrateful little sea monster," she snapped. "Asking for more like you belong here."
Yet, whenever Dominika, her daughter, asked for anything, she willingly obliged without complaint.
Dominika, on the other hand, was her mirror, both in looks and in cruelty.
She learned cruelty at her mother's knee, always looking for ways to get Violet in trouble.
They often fought over Dominika's silly games of blaming Violet for breaking her toys or accusing her of stealing from her room. After every scolding, she'd sneak into Violet's room with a wicked grin.
"Mama says you're some terror's bastard," she'd hiss. "That's why they threw you in the sea. No one wanted you."
Her words stung, but Violet learned to hide her tears.
"Leave her be, Dominika," Chief Nazara would scold whenever he caught her tormenting Violet.
His study became Violet's sanctuary, a place where she felt safe and valued.
In the quiet moments between his duties to the village, he would invite her into his study, a warm, wood-paneled room filled with books and maps, smelling of parchment and the pipe tobacco he favored.
There, he taught her to read, his voice patient as he guided her through the unfamiliar letters.
At first, Dominika and Violet learned together. But that ended the day Dominika tore one of father's maps and tried to frame Violet.
"Violet, did you tear the map?" Chief Nazara asked, his voice stern.
"No, Father. I left it with Dominika," she replied, her hands trembling.
"She's lying!" Dominika shouted. "I saw her tear it!"
Chief Nazara's eyes narrowed. "Both of you, stretch out your hands."
They obeyed. Ink smudges from the torn map stained Dominika's palms.
Dominika never entered the study again after that.
Violet remembered one evening vividly, just before everything changed. She was curled up in his big leather chair reading a book about their kingdom Eldrador.
"Chief Nazara," she asked hesitantly, pointing to a line in a book about the royal families of Eldrador, "why does it say only they have powers?"
He set his quill down and leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant.
"The royal families were blessed with abilities beyond ordinary folk. It's said their powers were gifts from the gods, marking them as rulers."
"But they're all gone now," she pressed, sensing there was more to the story.
"All of them," he confirmed, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Our current king saw to that."
The weight of his words settled heavily in the room.
"Why did he..."
"Enough questions for tonight," he interrupted gently, ruffling her hair. "Back to your reading."
She didn't push further, though she wished she had.
The change came on Violet's tenth birthday, though no one celebrated it, since they didn't know her true birth date. Chief Nazara had chosen the day he found her as her birthday, much to Lady Maria's disapproval.
Violet stood in the village square, watching the other children play. Their laughter rang out, carefree and bright. It was a sound she could only enjoy from a distance. Lady Maria had forbidden Dominika from playing with her, and the other parents followed her lead.
Then it happened.
Suddenly, a sharp scream cut through the noise.
"Watch out!"
A cart broke loose, the merchant running after it in vain as the heavy wheels barreled through the crowd. A little girl stood frozen in its path, her eyes wide with fear.
"Move!" someone shouted, but the child remained rooted to the spot.
The child's mother screamed, too far away to reach her in time.
Without thinking, Violet thrust out her hand.
The world slowed. The cart hung suspended, its wheels spinning uselessly in midair. Energy crackled in the air, tingling along her skin.
The toddler looked up, giggled, toddling safely out of harm's way.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath.
For a heartbeat, everything was silent.
Then came the cries.
"Witch!"
"She's possessed by evil spirits!" "Unnatural!"
"Only royal blood should have such powers!"
Violet's hand dropped, and the cart thudded to the ground. The silence shattered into chaos as parents pulled their children away and whispers swirled like a storm.
That evening, Violet huddled in her room, the faint glow of a candle casting flickering shadows on the walls. From Chief Nazara's study, voices rose in heated debate.
"She's dangerous!" Lady Maria's voice was sharp and accusing. "Normal children don't wash up on shores in baskets! And what if the king finds out we're harboring her?"
"She's just a child, Maria," Chief Nazara replied, his tone weary yet resolute.
"A child with powers!" she spat. "The kind of powers that destroyed the royal families. Do you really think it's a coincidence she ended up here?"
"I don't care about coincidences," he said firmly. "She saved a life today."
"It doesn't matter! She can't stay," Lady Maria countered. "What will the villagers do now that they've seen what she can do? And what happens when the king hears of it?"
"Enough," Chief Nazara said, his voice like thunder. "Violet is under my protection. That's the end of it."
Her bitter laughter echoed through the house.
"Your protection?" she sneered. "And who will protect us from her?"
Her words sliced through Violet, sharper than any blade. She pressed her hands to her ears, but the voices seeped through, filling the cracks in her fragile resolve.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered into the darkness. But the shadows offered no comfort, and the weight of their fear pressed heavily on her small shoulders.
Violet hated who she was becoming.
That night, she crept into the study room. Chief Nazara was hunched over his desk, his quill trembling in his hand. He clutched his chest, his breath shallow and strained.
"Father..."
"I'm fine, Violet." He waved her off weakly, his smile faltering.
"Just get me a cup of water and I will be fine," he said softly.
She fetched the water in a panic, but when she returned, he was already scribbling again, his determination unshaken. Violet set the cup on the desk and watched him drink, her worry clawing at her chest.
"Father, am I really a demon?"
He looked up sharply, setting the cup down. "Who told you that?"
"They all say it." Her voice cracked. "Maybe they're right."
Chief Nazara knelt before her, his hands warm on her shoulders. "Violet, you are kind and brave," he said, his voice warm despite the strain. "Promise me, no matter what happens, you'll stay that way."
She nodded, though doubt still gnawed at her. His face softened, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't noticed.
"That's my girl," he whispered, his smile bright against the shadows.
She didn't know it then, but it was the last smile he would ever give her.