Thorns Of Paradise

            I thought it was paradise. I really did. When I first wandered towards the strange scene, it looked to me to be lush with fruits, trees, and homes I could stay in. And to the credit of the place, that visage never broke, not even once I saw what was underneath.

            I had come to stay there because of a handful of creatures which had chosen to become my friends. A peculiar grasshopper that was as tall as I was. A dryad with pink-and-white patterns all down their body, like a cherry blossom tree. Even the forest itself was run by a timid and affectionate, if a bit invasive, spirit of a troll that endeavored to behave like a human child.

            But the real caretaker, and also the source of my trouble, was the old man who had dug himself out a residence in these hundred-acre woods. He welcomed me, as the others did, and he seemed nice. But even walking around the little space, the signs were there. The little things I should’ve seen. When he complimented roses on the prickling of their thorns. When he cursed the troll, Rohci, for their complacency in keeping to the place. When he glared towards the outside, and said it was not a place worth going.

            While there, I did make earnest friends of the others I found there. The dryad woman, One. The Grasshopper, Kenneth. More, later on. I spent a great deal of time with them, pretending to be a detective, learning their ways, learning more about language and people. I have many regrets tied to my mistakes in coming there in the first place, but there is also a lot of good I retrieved by just having the chance to make that mistake.

            Still, I spent most of my time with him, Ostiar. And a long time it was. We’d spend hours into the night chatting about the wider world and its properties. What it means to be human. What identity meant. I’d expressed to him my desires for my identity, and he gave me a potion which allowed me to be the woman I desired to be, but with a couple unfortunate curses. I couldn’t leave his side, not in the broader sense, and I was to never leave the wood or it would be revoked violently. I didn’t particularly care, of course. I was eager to get my chance at these things. I didn’t read the fine print, and I didn’t know they were unnecessary caveats.

            As time wore on, I gradually became convinced that I was in love with him. I.. I honestly cannot tell you if this was a curse as part of what he gave me, or if this came forth from my own emotions. Which ever way it was, it lead to me confessing love to him, on a moonlit night atop one of the many platforms among the trees. He accepted my feelings, and we attempted to be romantic. I- I shudder to think of it now, admittedly. Not only was the difference in our personalities greater than that of the highest mountain to the deepest trench, but I’ve also learned it’s not something I really enjoy, something he took as an insult at the time. If I’d only known, maybe I’d have realized sooner what a mistake I’d made.

            Ostiar came up with more games that we could play, as a forest community. He generally made ceremony of asking Rohci, the forest keeper, for permission to do this, and acted with great success like a politician winning a round of campaigning over his opponent. It was always strange, but by far not the worst of signals I failed to see.

            As time wore on, more members joined the little forest community. A bear with a fierce snarl but an almost puppy-like plea for attention. A monstrous snake that craved anything it could get its hands on. An undead woman who prowled like a cat.

            They were pleasant, by and large. I had my qualms with some, my arguments with others. As things moved on, I found myself unsurprised that a couple of the forest dwellers very much saw the world the way Ostiar did: Cold, brutal, and antagonistic.

            At times, I took trips away.

            At first, I gave decent warning. I came to the old man, and I told him of my intentions. I had planned to take a venture out to another civilization, one based around entertainment, and see what they might provide. He seemed understanding, but he asked a peculiar question:

            “Was it something I did?”

            I was confused, because no, obviously not. I loved this man, right? I just wanted to do something on my own. I wanted time, on my own. To be my own person, and see more of the world.

            And so I would go. And then I received a pigeon. And the pigeon bore a note, which read:

            “If it’s something I did, you’d tell me, right?”

            Of course I would. It’s nothing at all. I loved this man, right? I just wanted to do something on my own. So I sent as much back, and went about my business.

            And then the next day, a cat with a bottle upon its back, with a note and a drink.

            “This is for you, so you don’t have any bad feelings.”

            I found this confusing all the more so, as I actually felt quite pleasant. But I thought little of it.

            And again, something else.

            And another.

            And yet another.

            Each time, getting worse, and worse, each time, not a day, sometimes not even a sunset between messages.

            And then he sent a raven, also carrying a note. And I had found myself irritated.

            “I’m sorry I’m not a good partner.”

            And I was furious. I wrote, in a hurry, a response.

 

 

 

 

 

            I can’t remember what it said.

 

 

            He certainly convinced me it was awful.

 

 

            He didn’t send anything else, while I was away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Eventually, I returned to the woods. I found a strange, hand-posted sign outside.

 

“NO GOOD HONEST WOMAN HAS A REASON TO LEAVE”

 

…That stung to come back to, if I’m honest.

 

I found cold shoulders, inside. Around every corner. Rohci, One, the Bear named Entai, the works. Ostair, of course, gave me that. And he gave me much more.

He made sure I knew he hated me.

 

 

He cut into me the moment I came back. Called me terrible for abandoning my friends, for abandoning the forest. He called me a wretch. He called me a thousand other nasty things.

 

But I tried.

I tried to reconnect. I tried affections, I tried admitting fault.

 

I apologized.

 

Over, and over, and over, and over, I apologized.

 

I wanted things to be okay again, I didn’t want to be alone.

 

And eventually, he forgave me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so that happened.

And then, it happened again.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

And eternity seemed too short a time to ever be absent though I only left for a few weeks before returning out of loneliness. And at times, I regretted ever giving an inch.

It was painful. And I hated it.

I hated me.

 

After some time, a few friends of mine had started to catch on to what was affecting my mood, both within the forest and without. These people spoke plainly to me, and insisted I change things. Insisted I get out. Somehow. But all I knew was all I had, and all I had was, I felt, all there was to have. And that poisoned me.

 

I spent so much time struggling against those emotions.

Inferiority.

Unworthiness.

Loneliness.

Fury.

Despair.

 

 

And yet I had no idea what to do.

 

Until one day, a very silly person came to me in town, with a bundle of roses, and said, quite simply:

“You’re a startlingly beautiful person. Would you go out with me?”

 

            I was… astonished. Startled, even. Me? Why, I’m a monster, a critic of life, a mess, a downer. I am a mistress of hell, a devil incarnate.

 

            I am an abandoner.

            I am faithless.

           

            I am a -

            I am a-
            I- I am-

 

 

            “In some rather unfortunate circumstances, from what you’ve told me.”

            I started. “I’m sorry?”

            He held out the flowers, “You seem lovely, genuinely. You’re curious, and thoughtful. You’re strange and cheery. You’re bright, even if you don’t believe it. And I rather think you’re pretty. And yet so much of your time is spent wondering if that's enough for someone else. If you're enough for someone else. And that is some rather unfortunate circumstances.”

 

            I didn’t know how to respond.

 

            If this had happened nowadays, when I have my emotions available to me, I probably would’ve cried.

            But instead, I was simply… awoken.

            Like a golem having rested beneath the tides of earth for a hundred thousand years, I felt myself stir. But nothing was quite over yet.

 

            I went back to the forest.

            I had things to discuss.

            And Ostair confronted me, plainly, about what I’d been out doing. I answered honestly: I’d been meeting and chatting with friends.

            He demanded to know the details, and I initially refused.

            And this pissed him off, as it always did.

            And he wrung it out of me, as he always knew how to do.

            So I told him plainly.

            Someone had expressed an interest in me, and it was giving me pause.

            “And what do you think of them?”

            “I think they’re rather nice.”

            “NO, you know what I MEAN!”

            “…I really don’t.” I lied, buying time. “Speak plainly.”

            “Do you have romantic feelings for that… that… outsider?!”

           

            I took a moment to respond.

            “I don’t know.”

            At which point he dragged me outside to the sign upon the perimeter.

            Apparently, in my absence, he’d prepped another for just this occasion.

 

            Tearing the old one down, he instated the new one in its place.

 

“NO WHORE IS WELCOME, NO WHORE IS WORTH IT.”

 

            And the message was clear.

            He turned, broke up with me, and went back into his small, shabby, unwelcoming hut, slamming the door shut.

 

 

            I was surprised to find that I did not feel sad.

            I was surprised to find that I did not feel lonely.

 

            No, rather:

           

            I. Felt. Bored.

 

            It felt so normal, these arguments, these fights. It felt so painfully common that I had no basis to react to it outside of blithe acceptance. But, I felt the chains, the limits, the weight, sliding off. I was not beholden to my agreement anymore.

            Simple freedom.

            I left, rather permanently. Some folks who had come to care about me, the Undead Woman, the Grasshopper, left too, upon hearing of things. Apparently I was worth something to them, too, and the place worth much less if it drove me off.

 

            It was.. startling, to feel of any importance.

 

            And as my first day free, and my first celebration,

            I joined that charming man for dinner.

            He was not perfect, and he did not pretend he was.

            But he took his time to know me, and gave me time to know him.

           

            It was nice. I could leave and do what I wanted. I could stay and talk about anything. It was new, it was unusual, it was strange.

 

            But, it was quite nice.