How did legends come about? They had to be based off of something, something that existed. They had to come from somewhere, unless someone made them up. But aren't legends based off of real life facts? This topic was confusing.
The entire concept about legends left Simina pondering this, day and night. Legends became Simina's main focus. She didn't understand just how the people who wrote and told legends got their information or apparent facts from. Simina knew of legends because she loved to read books. Mainly, she read books about legends, and had already read many books about many different legends.
Most people thought legends had something to do with fairy tales. But Simina didn't believe that was the truth. She read fairy tales, oh yes, but they sounded very different from legends. They were nothing alike, and had very little similarities, if even any. Legends kept Simina intrigued. She fantasized about them, about the magic described in legends.
She felt that legends were the darker part of fairy tales that the authors didn't write about. Simina enjoyed all kinds of fictional stories, but something drew her to mythical legends and folktales. Anything pertaining to, or about the supernatural, she loved. It fascinated Simina to no end. She positively adored fairy tales. She loved stories detailing the bravery of valiant young princes heroically trekking through all sorts of danger, just to save the love of their life, the princess.
Simina wished very childishly that someone would love her like that, love her enough to save her from eminent danger. She longed to be a beautiful princess, loved and cherished by all who knew her. Simina never really believed in all of that, she knew stuff like that never really happened. Handsome young princes didn't exist, and neither did princesses, evil witches who conjured up terrible spells, werewolves that changed during the full moon, vampires that sucked blood out of its victims, fairy godmothers who helped the princess during a time of desperate need, fairies themselves that possessed magical wands, little elves with pointy ears, and warlocks.
But Simina still liked to dream. If she didn't have dreams, then what else could she have? Without dreams, she felt she'd have nothing. If she wasn't at school or reading a book, then she was daydreaming about all of those magnificent things previously mentioned.
Because of her fascination with such things, her father constantly told her to get her head out of the clouds, and start living down on the planet, where reality really existed. Her father highly disapproved of her reading these books, but never said much to her about them. Simina knew that reading about such things was one thing, but to speak of them was on a whole other level. To speak of such things in front of other people, the common public, was forbidden.
Things like that scared people that Simina considered to be normal. It completely freaked them out. She didn't know why though, even though these myths and legends weren't real. If these common people didn't believe such things existed, then why were they so afraid of them? Simina knew what was real, though. Sickness, the plague, and famine. Those were real problems, ones she could actually, physically see, and not just read about. Just a few years ago, when Simina was much younger, the plague ravaged rampantly through her small village of Lazera. Her mother was still alive back then, but not for much longer.
A little after the plague hit the village, Simina's mother got sick with it by working in the Sick House, trying to nurse other people back to health, but Simina too also became dreadfully ill with the plague. Now her father carried the burden of caring for both of them by himself.
Simina didn't remember much during that time. She only heard the sound of her sickly, shallow breathing, the steady but slow thump-bump of her heart pumping sick blood through her veins. She vaguely remembered dreaming of dark things moving and forming into grotesque shapes. Simina felt so feverish she was sure she would die.
But somehow, Simina survived. The rashes on her skin did not leave scars. They went away on their own, and her fever broke. Her mother, however, was not so lucky. Her mother succumbed to the sickness, and sadly, passed on. Simina grieved for the longest time, wishing it had been her to die instead of her mother, wishing she could have taken her mother's place.
But that had been five years ago, and Simina had long since moved on. She still missed her mother, but had gotten over her intense grief she used to feel at her loss. Ever since her mother's death, Simina's father has never been the same. He's never tried to remarry, even after five years, though Simina has tried to persuade him to meet other women.
Simina's coping mechanism was to read books, and all those interesting stories made her feel better after her mother died. She didn't know if her father knew that or not, but oh well, she figured.
One of Simina's deepest secrets was to have adventure. She secretly wished for adventure, and wanted to explore all over the planet. Other times, when Simina couldn't read, she'd go outside in her yard, and pretend she was a princess, a damsel in distress, in need of saving, and play with her friend Ernest, who would dress up like a prince, and pretend to save her. Or he'd play the witch, and try to capture her.
Despite being the age of sixteen, Simina still acted like a child. She never wished to grow up, she always wanted to stay a child. She never wanted to take on the responsibilities of a grown adult woman. But her father kept telling her to grow up, and stop being so childish. She had to grow up someday, so she could mature. He told her to stop acting like such a child, and to start acting like a proper young lady who'd get married someday, and perhaps even have children.
Simina still felt she was too young, and wanted to act the part of a child for as long as possible. Even though she was sixteen, she acted more like a twelve-year-old, and many of the village elders did not approve of her antics. Simina still wanted to be able to dream and fantasize about things. Sometimes, because of this reason, her father would take away all of her books, and not allow her to read them until she acted like a proper young lady. Usually, when this would happen, she'd go find Ernest, and they'd play a game they called, “The Prince, and The Princess.” That just happened to be what she was doing right about now.
Simina ran through the woods, splashing through puddles of mud, holding the folds of her skirt as she ran, giggling like mad. Ernest chased behind her, wielding a long wooden stick as a sword.
“Come back here, princess! I won't let you get away!” he shouted at her. This just made Simina laugh harder, and air rushed into her lungs as the wind caressed through her hair. Spots of muddy water splattered all over her legs. She felt the soft grass between her bare toes, the fresh dirt caking up in the skin of her bare feet.
“You can't catch me! My prince will save me!” she yelled back to him in a mocking tone. Ernest cackled after her.
“He can't save you, I've captured your precious prince!” Ernest wailed in a high-pitched voice, supposed to be a witch's voice, but a poor imitation. Simina looked over her shoulder to see Ernest gaining on her and tried to run faster, but couldn't in a dress.
A twig snagged on her skirt, and tore the hem of her dress. Simina kept running, however, not caring that she tore it. She just figured that she'd sew it later. Her father would not approve. But Simina wasn't really striving for his approval, nor anyone else's for that matter.
“My prince will escape! He will come for me!” Simina swore, voice swelling with a fake loyalty. In the midst of her running, she jumped over a rotten, dead log of a long ago fallen tree. She turned back to see Ernest stumble, and lose his balance, but kept going at a slower pace.
Simina slipped behind the trunk of a large oak tree, hiding from Ernest. She peeked around the side of the tree, both hands placed on either side of its large wooden trunk. Ernest had stopped running. He stood in quite a strange stance, with his legs far apart, only half standing, holding a long stick in his right hand. He squinted his eyes.
“Where'd you go, my pretty? Hm? Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Ernest said in his poor witch imitation voice. Simina hid, her heart beating fast. She heard Ernest's feet crunch over dead leaves and snap twigs. Simina did not move a muscle. Ernest's footsteps stopped. Simina peeked around the tree's trunk. She did not see him. Simina widened her eyes in curiosity.
“Ernest?” she called out his name, feeling worry creep in upon her. As soon as she said his name, something jumped down out of a tree next to her. She squealed with fright. It was Ernest, arms raised in a creepy fashion above his head, and he growled at her like a wild animal. Simina screamed, and stumbled back as Ernest tackled her playfully to the ground. They rolled around for a bit, Simina giggling, until Ernest finally let up. He stared down at her with a wide, playful grin.
“Gotcha,” he said, “I win.” Simina nodded, giving up, knowing it was time to concede defeat.
“Okay, you win, you barbarian, now get off,” Simina said, shoving him in the chest as she tried to hide the smile in her voice. Ernest rolled off of her and onto the ground. He huffed out a huge breath of relief, and began panting. Simina laid there next to him, legs feeling too worn out and achy to get up. Simina groaned, and stared up at the sunlight streaming through the leaves of all of the trees around them.
Simina took a deep breath, swallowing a mouthful of fresh air. They laid there for a while, just panting, catching their breath, until Ernest finally moved. He sat up, and rolled to his feet. Simina sat up, but did not stand. She watched Ernest climb up the base of an apple tree like a monkey, all the way to the top. He picked two apples, and with great agility, jumped down to land on his feet. Ernest plopped down on the grass, flicking his wild red curls out of his eyes.
He tossed Simina an apple, which she caught with both hands. Ernest chomped down into his with a crispy, satisfying crunch. Juice dribbled down his lips and trickled down his chin as he draped his arm across a propped up knee.
Simina daintily took a bite out of her own apple, feeling its sweet juice run across the surface of her tongue. She heard Ernest slurp his apple, and she looked up. He grinned widely at her with a boyish smile, dimples indenting both cheeks.
“We should play a different game some time,” Ernest suggested with a worn out voice. He took another bite of apple as Simina chewed, and swallowed.
“What do you mean?” she asked him. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I don't know. Maybe we should consider growing up,” Ernest told her. Ernest dodged the glare Simina gave him. He enjoyed playing along with Simina and her games, but was growing tired of playing these childish games over and over again every time they met. Ernest knew that some sort of change had come over him, physically and emotionally. He began to develop different feelings for Simina than just childlike feelings.
He noticed that Simina also had gone through some physical changes lately, and she looked the same as always, but something about her seemed suddenly different. He noticed her face wasn't as round as before, the sides of her body not so straight, and the swelling of her chest. Her body curved now, instead of normally being straight.
Ernest noticed these changes in her, but wondered if Simina noticed them as well. Ernest didn't know how to explain these feelings, but he found her rather pretty. He'd heard of a thing called puberty, and knew he was going through it, just didn't quite know fully what it meant. Simina, however, had never even heard of puberty. She didn't even know what it was.
She did notice that her body was changing, but paid no mind to it. She also tried to ignore these new feelings and emotions she'd started feeling about herself, and wild thoughts she often had.
Simina, ignoring Ernest's previous statement, tossed away her now finished apple core. She wipe her mouth off. Ernest dropped his apple to the ground.
“I'm thirsty,” Simina declared. Ernest's eyes widened with excitement.
“You wanna go sip from the stream?” he asked Simina, getting up. Simina jumped to her feet.
“Sure.” Then they raced each other to the stream, which was only a short distance away. Once there, both of them cupped their hands in the flowing stream of cool water, and let it fill their hands. Simina and Ernest brought their cupped hands full of water to their lips, and sipped it. It tasted cool, refreshing, just like it had been blessed by nature.
Simina took handful after handful of water. She stepped into it, pulling up her skirt, placing her blistered feet into its soothing currents. She closed her eyes, and tilted her face up. A gush of cool water splashed against her face. Simina sputtered for a moment, gasping out in surprise, and dropped her skirt to wipe the water from her eyes. She turned to look at Ernest, who grinned mischievously at her, eyes playful. Oh, so he wants to play that game, Simina thought. She dunked her hands in the water.
“Take that!” she shouted as she splashed him back. Ernest put an arm up to block his face as he laughed. In the next few moments, there ensued an all out splashing war, where both kept splashing the other, until one finally caved, and gave up.
Simina's dress got soaking wet and dirty as they fooled around. Her heart felt so light, she could not stop giggling and laughing with joy. She couldn't see through the blurred wetness of water in her eyes, strings of her wet hair dangling in front of her face.
In the midst of their horse playing, Simina heard her father's commanding shout from the village.
“Simina!!” she heard. Both of them instantly stopped splashing, and their laughing cut short. Simina looked behind her.
“Simina!!!!” her father called again, louder this time. She turned back to Ernest.
“That's my father. I have to go,” she told him. Jumping out of the stream, Simina took off at a hurried run, taking off through the woods, hearing Ernest's cry of goodbye calling after her.
* * *
Simina arrived home a short few minutes later, into her log cabin, where her father wasn't present. Upon coming into the house, she'd tracked dirt and mud all over the floor from her bare feet. Spinning her head about madly, checking to make sure her father wasn't coming, quickly scurried to the washroom to wash up and change her clothes.
Before Simina got the chance to do anything, however, she heard her father shout. Her body lurched to a stop. Darn, she thought.
“Simina, what is this mess you've tracked in the floor?! Come here, this instant!” he ordered. Simina, sulking, hung her head, and droopingly walked back into the front room to her father to stand before him. She didn't dare look up at him. He tapped an angry foot against the floor.
“Just look at yourself. You've soiled your nice clothes, and made a mess of the house!” he scolded her. Her father walked away for a second, and returned a moment later with a bucket, and a sponge. He snapped his fingers, and pointed at the floor.
“Clean it up, now,” he disciplined. Simina spent the next few hours scrubbing up the floor.