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But today was another disastrous day. Today I barely had the strength to lift my body off the ground.
Today, the xaphans in charge of the training, including Pashchar, just laughed cruelly at me.
Why won’t she let me work, instead of forcing me to do this futile exercise? This thing that will never result in anything?
I know that at some point in her youth, before my mother met my father, she also tried to gain her wings.
She also failed several times.
She met my father then, who at the time was a young, successful dockworker.
She thought that my father would bring us wealth through his connections with the xaphans and the gorgons.
But humans never get anywhere on Aerasak. Especially not on New Solas.
My father became a drunk very early in their marriage, and his drinking became worse after my mother gave birth to me.
And then my mother had her accident after the birth of my youngest sibling.
And her life, as she put it, was over.
“How did it go?” My mother’s voice is sharp and unforgiving when she speaks to me. There is not a hint of kindness in it.
She already knows what my answer will be. I wouldn’t have come home if it had been a good day.
“Mother.”
She remains completely unmoved as I fling myself to the ground, kneeling next to her chair and sobbing. My chest rattles as I cry silently.
“Please. I cannot keep doing this. I cannot go on. Please. It is going to kill me.”
She inhales heavily. When I look up at her, her face is blank.
“Vanessa, do you really think that giving up is an option? Do you really think you have a choice? Look at us. Look at how we’re living. Gaining your wings is the only way for us to get out of this.”
“I can get a job.” I sniff and try to wipe my tears away. “I can work. That will bring the money in.”
My mother’s face twists angrily.
“You want me to continue living in this hovel? You want me to continue living among these degenerates?” She gestures at the front door, pointing towards our neighbors. “I deserve a life of wealth and prestige!”
She raises her voice, and I shiver at the anger in it.
“My life ended when I gave birth to you! You owe me this! So don’t you dare give up! Or just don’t come home!”
“Okay,” I say as calmly as I can after I have stopped crying. “Okay. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
My mother breaks into a pleased smile and pats my face softly with her wizened hand. I try to lean into her hand, but she pulls away too quickly, and I nearly fall over.
“Make me a cup of tea.” She shifts in a chair, and I do not miss the way she grimaces in pain.
I nod obediently and stand up, even though my right leg is aching from today’s exercises.
As I go about and make the tea, using an old teabag that I stored away for my mother a few weeks ago, I search my mind for ways to get through the trials.
You heard her. You don’t have a choice. You’ll just have to get through it.
After I hand my mother her cup of tea, I head up to the attic where I sleep every night.
