Case Files: Memoirs of Lamia [VA]

[Estelle]

Lamia, one of the many spirits among the stars. This thread recounts the fragments of her past that she has retained in death, or however vague memories she recalls over time, as well as the skills she had learned.

The files presented here are not in chronological order and all take place in the past. Though they may be numbered, it is only used to keep track of them. This means that posts may haphazardly jump between ages, events and places as needed.

[Estelle]

File Nr.001 - Outskirts

The sun was barely rising across the horizon, yet they were already walking among the trees of the forest, further and further away from the home she had once known. Vaguely she wondered whether her grandmother was aware of that fact, how early it was and how tired she still felt, unable to sleep the night prior. The scent of that place – like a dark nightmare – felt overwhelming in face of what she had learned. And now, now that she was stronger, less sick, they were walking again. Had grandmother not found her, would she have survived?

Mortality was something, at an age as young as hers, she had never considered. And yet there she had stood, on death’s doorstep, mere moments away from reuniting with them in the dark abyss of nothingness. Grandmother had been her saviour. Found, tended to until she was strong enough to walk once more… Renamed.

“She believed she was honouring your father, naming you that. But your mother was wrong. She insults the stars by giving you their name, and I will accept that no longer. No granddaughter of mine will bear the risk of the star spirits’ wrath over a deceased mate.”

Grandmother would say, her tone ever so serious, ever so stern.

“You are Lamia, now. Wanderer of the forests, granddaughter of mine. Do not forget that.”

Grandmother would add, Lamia recalled the glazed over and unfocused eyes turning her way – somehow more piercing than the sharpest stone. There was something so finite about the way Grandmother spoke, as though eventually, their path together would come to an end. But Lamia was too young to understand. To naïve to know. She would nod, her pace just a beat behind Grandmother’s.
“Yes, Grandmother.”
Would be the way she responded, followed by an approving sign of the elder – or what she believed was an approving sign.

“Your speech has improved.”
Grandmother would comment with a such a tone she could swear it was praise, but it was difficult to tell with elder feline. Her behaviour curt, cold to those who knew little. Sometimes Lamia wondered, would she have taken her in, had she not been her Granddaughter? She liked to think Grandmother would have. Grandmother believed in the stars and spirits of the world guiding her paws, she often spoke of them while Lamia had been ill. Silent mutters through the night, those sounds Grandmother believed she couldn’t hear, those words that sometimes ignited shade within her mind.

“Where are we going, now, Grandmother?”
Lamia would ask, her voice pitched with youth and steps awkward as the wanderers’ path grew all the more lengthy. Grandmother’s response was enigmatic as ever;

“Wherever the spirits will lead us, Lamia, and wherever the stars will keep us safe.”

[Estelle]

File Nr.002 - Outskirts

“Grandmother, I’m scared.”
There was a waver in her voice. Grandmother had made her intentions painfully clear; her care was temporary at best. And Lamia wanted to believe she knew best. But the price for this temporary care was to learn, however young she was. Lamia shuddered in place. Only days after she had been well-enough to partake in physical activity again did Grandmother begin to teach her how to hunt. Lamia still froze every time she had to take the life of an innocent animal at her paws, however big or however small. Grandmother’s stance on the matter was difficult to read.

“Everything has a soul, Lamia,”
She would say.
“But to make it suffer and fear without end is worse than taking its life.”
Grandmother would add, but Lamia remained perplexed. If everything had a soul, a spirit, why did they have to take them, then? Grandmother would say they would ascend to the stars, just as they would once their time came. Was it truly so? Lamia wanted to believe so.

But that the source of her fear this very day, as she stood at the edge of the water, a cat smelling strongly of fish a few steps ahead. The rushing sound tainted the corners of her vision, and Lamia stood frozen in place, looking from the other’s paws to her Grandmother’s face. Grandmother said they were of the river clans, those who swim and who fish. Grandmother said, if she wanted to live, she had to learn how to use the waters as the fish that swam in it, just as she once had. Yet when she asked if Grandmother would join, the elderly would say she could not. That the water was no longer safe for the likes of her, and that Lamia had to be brave. Be brave.

Tread the water lightly, the river cat told her, get used to the feeling of chilly water against her skin, the feeling of the current pushing her along. Lean down, stick your head inside without panic – she panicked – the river cat steadied her as Grandmother watched on, without a word. Try again, the river cat would tell her, and they would practice until Lamia could hold her breath beneath the watery surface.

It is then that the river cat moved on, telling her to paddle within the shallows, to not think about drowning or the water creeping up her throat. She would hold her, steady her, keep her above surface as the kitten paddled in the water with all might until the feeling grew all the more familiar. And the more familiar those paddling movements became, the more the river cat would let her paddle on her own, until finally Lamia – much to her amazement and fear – swum among the waters without the need of anyone to hold her.

It was surprising how catching the fish of the river was far more difficult in comparison. They flopped and they flew about, slippery and difficult to get hold of – not to mention strong; the river cat did their best to demonstrate, to help, to teach. But each time Lamia squirmed and let go of the fish, even after the understood to keep away from the edge, to not let her shadow show, to be silent like the wind. But the wind was not always graceful, and Lamia struggled to learn this skill. Though she knew the theory she was told, the kitten failed to perform, earning the scrutiny of Grandmother.

The river cat had been kind. More supportive and understanding as the day came to an end, and her chance to master fishing sailed by – she could swim, now, with grandmother telling her she ought to practice often enough to master the ways. But the fish would elude her still, and Lamia struggled with that fact.