Sigurd's Story



“Miss Syllea?” Airele asks, looking at the teenager.
Syllea looked up quickly, shaking her mind from her thoughts, and nodded. “Yes, yes I was listening.”
Airele raised a brow and went to sit beside Syl, “Something is on your mind. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”
The teen girl sighed and looked down at the table she was sitting at. She wanted to be an animal doctor, but her mind was crowded with so many other thoughts it was hard to focus. “It’s nothing,” she says quietly, her mind already drifting to her thoughts…



Syllea walked slowly towards her tree of Lost Ones. She ran her fingers along the names carved in its bark before turning to lean against it. She put her head back and closed her eyes, drifting off to a light nap.
She woke suddenly feeling as if someone was watching her from the left. She glanced over and saw Sigurd walking towards her. She smiled lightly, “You scared me.” She chuckled.
Sigurd stopped and frowned, “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He spoke softly and gently towards Syl as if scared his voice might break her.
Syl smiled gently and patted the ground next to her, indicating for him to sit. He came but sat a few feet from her. “You don’t have to apologize, but…if you are sorry, can you answer my questions now?” She gave the young man a mischievous grin.
Sigurd sighed but nodded in agreement.
Syl smiled and leaned back against the tree, looking up towards its bright green leaves. “What happened? Like… why are you stuck in a spirit, how did you become a spirit?”
Sigurd chuckled at the many questions that poured from her so quickly. He hummed as he thought of how to answer. “Well, why don’t I just tell you about myself?”
“Okay,” she said quietly.
Sigurd sighed softly and began to tell his tale. “I was born many, many moons ago, even before your parents. I grew up with a lovely large family. I have three sisters and four brothers.  I was the youngest. My mother passed away during childbirth when having me, so I never knew her. My father was the only one to take care of me and those of my siblings still living at home. I was born with a condition that he had to deal with without my mother. I would begin to convulse randomly and have trouble breathing. I managed to fight to stay alive until I was nineteen. By then, the loss of my mother had completely consumed my father, and I rarely saw him except at nights when he was coming back from some local tavern. Always drunk…” he paused, and he looked as if he was in pain.
Syllea scooted closer to him, “Are you okay?” she whispered.
Sigurd looked to her and gave her a half-smile, “Yes, yes. I am.” Syl noticed him scoot slightly farther from her but tried to hide her hurt. “Shall I continued?” he asked.
The girl nodded, “Yes, please.”
Sigurd cleared his throat and continued with his story, “I was nineteen and hadn’t started convulsing for the past few months; we hoped I was becoming better. No medicine had helped, so I had just grown up learning to take care of myself during these fits. My father got back one night, drunk as always. None of my siblings were living at home anymore; it was just me. I welcomed him with a mug of coffee and a plate of hot food,” he paused and gave Syl a crooked grin. “I was quite the cook at the time.”
Syl laughed lightly but didn’t say anything.
“Well, he came in the door and saw me, his eyes glazed over and a bright red. He looked at me and began to cry, ‘You look so much like her. You killed her you sickly- ‘ He said some words that are not appropriate for you to hear. He went on to push me up against the wall of the main room in our house. I had been working out and was much larger than him but allowed him to push me. He began yelling more words into my face. I can still feel his spittle landing on my face.” He shuddered. “Of course, just my luck at that moment, I began to go through one of my episodes. I began to convulse, and my dad backed away quickly. I dropped to the floor, but as I did, I hit my head on the edge of a table in the room. It didn’t kill me right away, but my father walked away, leaving me with blood running down my face as I tried to breathe and convulsed like a mad man. I died in agony… I died in that room many hours later. I must admit… that night I had given up fighting through the fits. I just let it all happen, not forcing myself to breathe,” he spoke with sorrow and agony in his voice. He looked away from Syl, and again he shuddered.
Syl looked to him, shock written all over her face. “I am so sorry, Sigurd,” she whispered.
He looked at her and shook his head, “Please, don’t be sorry. It happened so long ago.”
She sighed, and they sat quietly together. Syllea noticed how comfortable the silence was between them; there was nothing awkward about it. Eventually, she spoke again, “Do you have a scar?”
Sigurd looked to her and chuckled lightly, “Aye, I do.” He brings his left hand up and pushes his messy brown hair back, revealing a deep, dark, gruesome scar on the left side of his forehead.
“Oh. That’s a nasty one,” she chuckled.
Sigurd nodded and put his hand back down, his hair falling back down slightly over his eyes. “It is.”
Syl smiled, then asked, “Why didn’t you just…die? Like why are you a spirit?”
He shrugged, “I honestly have no idea. I didn’t even believe in spirits before I became one.” He admitted sheepishly.
Syllea looked at him and just stared before bursting out laughing. “How similar we are, my friend.”
Sigurd looked at her and gave her another of his crooked grins. “Aye, we are. Now, no more questions.”
The girl nodded and smiled, “Okay, no more questions.”
She looked away for a second, and when she looked back, he was her beautiful white wolf and standing next to her. The wolf took a large breath and stared into Syl’s bright emerald eyes before turning and running towards the Old Forest.
Syl watched him go, then stood, heading to the Pony.



Syllea stood next to her Father in the Pony. They had chatted a bit, but it was quiet. Then… her father told her he was depressed; he had a broken mind that couldn’t be fixed. That brought thoughts to Syl she wished she didn’t have. She worried that it was his fault. Lately, everything between her family had become distant. When she was with her family, she still felt lonely. She worried it was her, her parents were always cuddling, but she was just…there. As that realization hit her, something broke inside of her. She quickly left the tavern and began to cry silently as she climbed up onto her horse, Layla. She took a long ride on the horse to calm down. She didn’t go home that night. She stayed at her parent’s cottage, trying to make herself believe it was all in her head…but she couldn’t convince herself.



Syllea looks back up to Airele and smiles softly, “Oh, it’s nothing. I am fine.”
She turned back to the book in front of her…the truth wanting to burst out.

 

((OOC: This may be confusing, but it is mainly a story within a story.))