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[gypsy_merrique]

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(Author's note: Some of the content in the following tale may be objectionable to people who are overly sensitive to 'social' issues, and perhaps to people who are just good at being offended. It was not the author's intent to cause negative feelings. With that said, please use your own judgement while reviewing the content. Regards...~M)


Merri stood upright suddenly, cursing with the pain from laying the flesh of her fingers open on the broken glass in the bottom shelf behind the bar at the Den. After the initial shock of the pain, her eyes fixed on the blood spilling from the wound. She emitted a low, strangled, and sick sounding noise from deep within her throat and stood immobilized by the sight. A few moments later, she tried to back away from her own hand, walking across the spilled glass she had dropped when she cut herself, causing new wounds to her feet. It was her good fortune that the drow Gen had stopped in for an ale--he patched her up and was kind enough to clean the blood from her body. The man swore to her that such fears were not aberrant, yet they were indeed something that could be overcome.

After the drow went his way and Merri completed her errands, she went to her quarters to sit and think. Thinking about this fear of hers was, at minimum, painful. At its worst it was debilitating. Thinking about the origin of that fear was, typically, devastating. Such thinking was something to be avoided at any and all costs.

"Twelve. I was twelve when it started," she whispered to herself as she forced herself to think, to try to put things into perspective. It was the summer of Merrique's twelfth year when she began to look womanly, her breasts and hips rounding and curving in ways that secretly delighted her.

It was not until it began, that it was apparent that the curvature delighted another. Everything about what happened was ugly. The bitterness, anger, cynicism and cold feeling it left her with was something that would linger throughout every day and night of her life. "The blood. From the first time. That had to be when it really started," she forced herself to think. "It only got worse from there…there was more," another part of her mind countered.

Night after night the girl went to bed not knowing whether the dreaded visitor would appear.

According to the lore keeper of her tribe, a gypsy woman's magic was impotent until the onset of her moon-time, when the girl gained power as a woman. Her particular tribe did not begin to teach true magic to a female until this time. Until then, she could listen and read, she could gather herbs and flowers, she could assist. But as a practitioner of mystic arts she had no true value. Armed with that knowledge, Merrique looked forward to such a time that she could turn magic onto her tormentor.

The cousin responsible for the brutality done to Merrique often threatened her, but she also soon learned that she could threaten him with exposure, by telling someone what was happening. On the heels of that knowledge came the realization that this physical act could have benefits. It could certainly bring gain to a person. Why, look at the things she demanded of, and received, from cousin Carlo.

After nearly a year of this ongoing trauma, Merrique fully became a woman in the eyes of her tribe. The gypsy queen was thrilled--she'd had her eye on Merrique to possibly someday become lore keeper of the women's secrets. Training began in earnest, Merrique an attentive and eager student. She learned to deal with the discomfort and cosmetic inconveniences of womanhood.

But then, one month, it did not happen. The girl began being ill early in the day, her recently formed breasts aching. The wisewoman of the clan declared Merrique with child, and all hell rained down upon Merri. Answers that she could not, would not, give were demanded. She remained silent. Merri's shame at her ugly secret only served to increase.

Oddly enough, it was guilt that overwhelmed cousin Carlo. Under cover of the night, he penned a letter confessing all the to the queen, and took his own life by drinking a potion strong enough to bring down an army of titans. The queen digested this news with horror--crimes against 'her' children were not tolerated and rarely occurred. It was with difficulty that she decided that the child within Merrique could not possibly be allowed to live. Cousins breeding with cousins! The things that could happen!

Merrique was drugged, yet awake, when the mystic women of her clan gave her a potion that started it. As she was not told what was going to happen, the girl had no idea of what was really going on. When the pains doubled her over, she realized--with some relief--that she would not carry this fruit of abomination within her any longer.

The blood. Oh, the blood. How the sight of such large quantities of her own blood soaked into her memory, sending the girl into a devastating, nearly psychotic, depression. For weeks after, Merrique sat listless and staring into the corner of the tent, eating only when force-fed, sleeping as much as she would be permitted. In time she came around, but was left with a definite problem regarding the sight of blood. All it did was serve to her memories best left in a dark, unvisited corner of her mind.

Merrique could only be grateful for the potions that prevented the moon-cycle, prevented the blood, prevented conception. How thankful she was for the potion-mistress she visited every few weeks for a new supply. At least it was one positive note. And as an adult, it certainly allowed her the freedom to choose her men as she saw fit and not worry about having a family she did not truly want.

"How. How can I overcome this" she whispered aloud, as she climbed onto the bed from her perch on the purple bench. "How can I overcome something I can't even admit to myself?"

She fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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. . . But the dark is very trustworthy.
It's always as dark as you thought it was.
And you don't have to work at staying there.
All you have to do is survive it.
And I've been doing that forever.
from the novel "Dark Debts" by Karen Hall