It was true that she could see visions from a different time. She’d been able to see them her entire life. But couldn’t control what she would see or when, and she never knew if she was seeing the past or future. Her power was too involuntary for it to be useful.
But if I’d just kept the visions to myself she thought miserably, they may not have actually hurt me.
She first told someone about her visions when she was six years old. She didn’t remember what the particular vision had been, but she did remember the astonished faces of her parents and neighbors. She remembered how much she had liked being able to surprise them, so she kept telling people about everything she saw.
She never meant any harm, but soon people realized that almost every vision of the future was of something horrible. People started to fear her. Worse, they started blaming her for the events she foretold. Eventually, any time anyone died, it was her fault. If something broke, she was responsible. When the people of her village finally drove her away, not even her parents and siblings defended her. She remembered the hateful looks on their faces as they watched her walk away in bare feet.
No matter how many times the people from her village blamed her for things she hadn’t done, she’d always managed to convince herself that it wasn’t her fault. She’d never wished harm on anyone. It had to be a coincidence.
But the destruction of her home was the last straw. She remembered turning back for one last look that day they expelled her, and watching as her village was destroyed.
She gave up. Maybe they were right—maybe she was the cause of all the misfortune she’d foreseen. If that was true, then there was nowhere she could go; she couldn’t risk spreading her curse to a new village or town. She decided to stay with the remains of her hometown until she wasted away.
Days passed; she neither ate nor drank, neither spoke nor moved. She felt herself get weaker and weaker, but she couldn’t find the energy to care.
That was when Reynard found her.
He lifted her gently and carried her away from the rubble. He wanted to nurse her back to health. When she told him her story and warned him that she brought danger, he simply laughed.
“You?” he had asked. “A prophet of misfortune? You must be joking. I’m sure it’s all a coincidence—people who look for calamity almost always find it.”
Reynard was always interested in her visions. He speculated that her terrible visions of the future might be a survival instinct—that her subconscious mind chose to show her violent events to warn her of danger.
“You should be proud of it,” he’d told her.
He was the one who thought of a way to use her power. She told him about her visions in great detail, and he used certain visions of other people’s pasts to prove her ability. When she saw visions of future calamity, he announced that only her foresight had stopped the tragedy from being greater. She couldn’t change the future, but by manipulating the facts that he told the islanders, Reynard made it seem like she could. Reynard set her up as a priestess who pointed the way to the future. Claiming that Elfitine was of noble birth only increased the islanders’ faith in her. Her people considered her words oracles as important as the Revelations of Grendel.
Elfitine knew that she was simply a pawn in Reynard’s game, a tool used to bring the islanders together. She had nothing against Mauserism, and the values she preached as the leader of Blasphemers’ Garden meant nothing to her. She played her role faithfully so she could stay with Reynard. She had no regrets; she would do anything to be useful to him.
But once their goals were realized, would there still be a place for her there?
She didn’t have any hopes or dreams of her own. She relied on Reynard for everything. Until recently, she had been content with that.
But lately, she’d started having the same nightmare every night. A nightmare of Reynard without his mask, a terrible grin on his face instead. She woke up every morning with his mocking laughter echoing in her ears. She told herself over and over again that it was just a dream, and that Reynard was the only person in the world Elfitine could rely on. The nightmares couldn’t be true.
And yet… she’d seen too many visions realized before her eyes. And in the entire time she’d known him, she’d never seen Reynard’s real face.
Elfitine buried her head in her pillow. She couldn’t erase the doubt in her mind.
I’m so ashamed, she thought as her fingers dug into fabric.
The next morning, Elfitine was pleased that Pacifica bathed with her in the spring.
Since Berkens’ escape, the villagers had put Elfitine under guard at all times. Armed guards had been dispatched to the area around the spring, but Elfitine had given them orders to let Pacifica pass. None of them disagreed with orders from the Scrapped Princess.
Elfitine loved talking to Pacifica. She knew so much about the world that Elfitine didn’t. Elfitine was shy and timid and relied on others to make her decisions for her—her first year with Reynard, the year they had spent traveling, she had spent most of her time hidden behind his back. Pacifica was the kind of person who forged her own destiny and experienced each day to the fullest. Just hearing about Pacifica’s adventures made Elfitine feel better.
Pacifica climbed out of the spring and grabbed a towel. “Can I ask you something, Elfi?” she asked as she dried herself off.
“Sure.” Elfitine followed Pacifica out of the water, taking her own towel.
“Um… are you really the Scrapped Princess?”
Elfitine’s heart jumped in her chest. “Wh-why do you ask?” she asked, her voice mostly steady.
Pacifica smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to doubt you or anything, it’s just… the Scrapped Princess was supposed to have been killed after birth. That means that somebody must’ve smuggled you out of the castle as a baby, right?”
“Yes…”
“So someone would’ve had to tell you later on that you were the Scrapped Princess. When they told you, did you believe them right away?”
“Oh.” Elfitine was choked by guilt. What could she say? She tried to swallow, but was unsuccessful. “Why are you . .. asking me this, Pacifica?” she murmured after a moment.