Post by Amelia Aziza Travers on Jan 29, 2018 17:29:09 GMT -5
Where lie secrets that I never want to know.
And when everything familiar seemed to disappear forever,
At the end of the path was Granny once again
And when everything familiar seemed to disappear forever,
At the end of the path was Granny once again
Isn't it nice to know a lot?
And a little bit not
And a little bit not
CONTENT WARNING: (Many) GORE MENTIONS, CHILD DEATH, FETICIDE, TORTURE MENTIONS
She had been seven, and it was after Jidda had been questioned by the Ministry.
Jidda had drawn a chart, circling the Heads of houses and underlining the heirs. Meixiu’s sons were Albert and Anthony, and both had been underlined, with children lines extending from both.
“Do you know who they are?” The question had been poised delicately, Jidda’s red lips curling into a smile. Amelia had been confused-- surely it had been obvious?
“They are the first cousins of your son?” When that didn’t seemed to be correct, Amelia had repeated the sentence in Arabic, then French, and uncertain Italian. None had been correct.
Jidda had been pleased at that that. “Yes, and no.” An elegant hand slammed into the chart under Albert’s name, and Amelia flinched back. “Stay still and straight.”
“Yes, Jidda.” She didn’t know what she was supposed to look like, so she held herself upright.
“Your mother’s family lost many people before the Dark Lord fell. You know of that, of course? Don’t sit there gaping at me like some stuck fish-- if you had half a brain you would have wondered why it was so small.”
She had nodded, trying to make it look like she knew what she was doing.
“You lost your great-uncle Edgar in 1981. He had four or five children, depending on who you ask.” Jidda had seemed pleased by that. “His home was invaded, and he went down fighting, Amelia. Do you know their names?”
She wasn’t quite sure what Jidda was referring to, but she had an idea of what to say. “My mother’s cousins? Or. . .” She’d spent hours in the cemetery, in the mausoleum, but it had mostly been looking for the Amelias, for her great-- no, her mother’s aunt, and her mother’s great-grand aunt. Jidda liked it better when she called people her mother's relatives; she said it separated her from them.
“Their disposers.” Jidda seemed as if she’d gotten a new present. “No, no, of course not. Your mother’s cousins were young when they were cut down. There was a boy a year older than you, a girl a year younger, a toddling child, a babe, and one yet unborn.”
Cut down, like wheat? She pictured men with scythes cutting down gravestones.
“They were all killed.” Jidda’s eyes wouldn’t leave hers, looking for fear. So this was a test, then! she couldn’t fail it. It was going to be lies to make her flinch. “The first one was painless-- a curse to his eight-year-old chest. But then they wanted. . .oh, more fun. They found the toddler next, and a Blasting curse into her head took care of that. They wanted information, and if they left your great-uncle with anything left to fight for, he wouldn’t be so willing to talk, do you see? The baby. . .well, it was vicious, that I won’t deny. I suppose they thought it interesting to see how long bones would hold to each other, so it was an experiment.” Jidda’s eyes glittered, but she didn’t look sad.
It was taking all of Amelia’s willpower to try and hold her face still. She thought the last was some sort of pun, like how Mum always wore bones. But what would Bones need to hold? Hands? Maybe she’d understand at the end of the joke. It had to be, right? It wasn’t very funny, but it had to be.
“Your uncle knew what was happening by then, of course. By the second child, he was already fighting some of the invaders to his home.” A cold finger traced down the middle of Amelia’s face, Jidda’s knuckles against her jaw.
She couldn’t help a shiver. Even at seven, she’d heard the rumors from her mother. She didn’t know when Jidda had drawn her wand, but she found herself thrown back, head hitting the stone. She held back the cry of pain, fought the urge to check her head to see if it was bleeding. Jidda would want her to behave, to look like she was perfect.
“It was all in vain, for of course they had his wife! She was several months pregnant, and--” Jidda laughed. “They had to sew the infant back in when it was time to bury them. How many is that, Amelia?”
She swallowed. This wasn’t funny, but she didn’t see how it couldn’t be. People wouldn’t be so evil, would they? It couldn't be real, she had to separate them. “The oldest boy, the toddler girl, the baby boy, and the wife and other baby.” Wait, didn’t Jidda say four or five? There was another child, wasn’t there?
There was another smile, glittering and glamorous. She didn’t like it. “ The wife still lived, then, if only barely. And oh, yes. How could I forget? Little Susan Amelia Bones. Is that name familiar?”
“That’s my mother’s name. Susan Amelia for her, Amelia Susan for her aunt, and Susan Amelia for her great aunt.” She dutifully responded. Jidda liked it when she knew the history of her families and their traditions; this was no different. She knew that much-- by all rights, she might have been an Amelia Susan. She was confused-- her mother’s father was Acanthus, because Atha was named after him. What was her mother doing with Edgar Bones?
She’d gotten an answer wrong, she saw in the glint in Jidda’s eyes. “And there was another Susan Amelia, the girl six years old. She rotted before the eyes of her parents.”
Her stomach heaved.
“Edgar was killed then, as he was of no use. They tried with his wife some time after that, though she was worse than useless, so was put down.” Jidda leaned closer, and she fought down the urge to vomit. “And your father’s cousin was one of the Death Eaters who killed them.”
Amelia tried to press down a gag and was sick all over the floor.
Jidda had drawn a chart, circling the Heads of houses and underlining the heirs. Meixiu’s sons were Albert and Anthony, and both had been underlined, with children lines extending from both.
“Do you know who they are?” The question had been poised delicately, Jidda’s red lips curling into a smile. Amelia had been confused-- surely it had been obvious?
“They are the first cousins of your son?” When that didn’t seemed to be correct, Amelia had repeated the sentence in Arabic, then French, and uncertain Italian. None had been correct.
Jidda had been pleased at that that. “Yes, and no.” An elegant hand slammed into the chart under Albert’s name, and Amelia flinched back. “Stay still and straight.”
“Yes, Jidda.” She didn’t know what she was supposed to look like, so she held herself upright.
“Your mother’s family lost many people before the Dark Lord fell. You know of that, of course? Don’t sit there gaping at me like some stuck fish-- if you had half a brain you would have wondered why it was so small.”
She had nodded, trying to make it look like she knew what she was doing.
“You lost your great-uncle Edgar in 1981. He had four or five children, depending on who you ask.” Jidda had seemed pleased by that. “His home was invaded, and he went down fighting, Amelia. Do you know their names?”
She wasn’t quite sure what Jidda was referring to, but she had an idea of what to say. “My mother’s cousins? Or. . .” She’d spent hours in the cemetery, in the mausoleum, but it had mostly been looking for the Amelias, for her great-- no, her mother’s aunt, and her mother’s great-grand aunt. Jidda liked it better when she called people her mother's relatives; she said it separated her from them.
“Their disposers.” Jidda seemed as if she’d gotten a new present. “No, no, of course not. Your mother’s cousins were young when they were cut down. There was a boy a year older than you, a girl a year younger, a toddling child, a babe, and one yet unborn.”
Cut down, like wheat? She pictured men with scythes cutting down gravestones.
“They were all killed.” Jidda’s eyes wouldn’t leave hers, looking for fear. So this was a test, then! she couldn’t fail it. It was going to be lies to make her flinch. “The first one was painless-- a curse to his eight-year-old chest. But then they wanted. . .oh, more fun. They found the toddler next, and a Blasting curse into her head took care of that. They wanted information, and if they left your great-uncle with anything left to fight for, he wouldn’t be so willing to talk, do you see? The baby. . .well, it was vicious, that I won’t deny. I suppose they thought it interesting to see how long bones would hold to each other, so it was an experiment.” Jidda’s eyes glittered, but she didn’t look sad.
It was taking all of Amelia’s willpower to try and hold her face still. She thought the last was some sort of pun, like how Mum always wore bones. But what would Bones need to hold? Hands? Maybe she’d understand at the end of the joke. It had to be, right? It wasn’t very funny, but it had to be.
“Your uncle knew what was happening by then, of course. By the second child, he was already fighting some of the invaders to his home.” A cold finger traced down the middle of Amelia’s face, Jidda’s knuckles against her jaw.
She couldn’t help a shiver. Even at seven, she’d heard the rumors from her mother. She didn’t know when Jidda had drawn her wand, but she found herself thrown back, head hitting the stone. She held back the cry of pain, fought the urge to check her head to see if it was bleeding. Jidda would want her to behave, to look like she was perfect.
“It was all in vain, for of course they had his wife! She was several months pregnant, and--” Jidda laughed. “They had to sew the infant back in when it was time to bury them. How many is that, Amelia?”
She swallowed. This wasn’t funny, but she didn’t see how it couldn’t be. People wouldn’t be so evil, would they? It couldn't be real, she had to separate them. “The oldest boy, the toddler girl, the baby boy, and the wife and other baby.” Wait, didn’t Jidda say four or five? There was another child, wasn’t there?
There was another smile, glittering and glamorous. She didn’t like it. “ The wife still lived, then, if only barely. And oh, yes. How could I forget? Little Susan Amelia Bones. Is that name familiar?”
“That’s my mother’s name. Susan Amelia for her, Amelia Susan for her aunt, and Susan Amelia for her great aunt.” She dutifully responded. Jidda liked it when she knew the history of her families and their traditions; this was no different. She knew that much-- by all rights, she might have been an Amelia Susan. She was confused-- her mother’s father was Acanthus, because Atha was named after him. What was her mother doing with Edgar Bones?
She’d gotten an answer wrong, she saw in the glint in Jidda’s eyes. “And there was another Susan Amelia, the girl six years old. She rotted before the eyes of her parents.”
Her stomach heaved.
“Edgar was killed then, as he was of no use. They tried with his wife some time after that, though she was worse than useless, so was put down.” Jidda leaned closer, and she fought down the urge to vomit. “And your father’s cousin was one of the Death Eaters who killed them.”
Amelia tried to press down a gag and was sick all over the floor.
