I remember my life of Eden.
In my first few years, something akin to freedom.
And when they caught up with her one day
I was thrown away just to be saved
Imprisoned, she’s gone
Liberated, I seem.
Then, I was seven, and all alone.
I could hunt, and kill, and gather food
But that was all. I barely knew how
To speak. Not that I had anyone
With whom to do so with; was alone.
Weep not for I am far better now.
It was some years before I found one
With whom I could speak, but I did not
Know her language and she would run off
And hide from me. She was a spirit.
She liv’d of the water, and in it.
She was the only one who would let
Me see her. She, once we were friends, taught
Me her language. The language
Of Däwngale and her children.
Now I speak four of her languages. Mine,
Elken. His, N’Tariel. Solune,
And hers, the language of Nixies.
We learned from each other and taught
All we knew. She said we would be sep-
Arated in some years, forever. She
Was wrong, but she was worried always.
Years pass’d and I bled into womanhood.
It was and it is an annoyance.
Gift from the mother to the daughter
To be a mother and enter her—
Enter her eternity. To fill the voids.
This I would do much later.
It was around this time I started
To explore the north woods. I went south
And almost got taken in by a
Tribe, caught in the age of stones. I left.
I would not return for many years.
I explor’d and avoided all those
Who could speak but were not spirits. But
There was a tenacious boy who saw
Me. He enter’d the death trance, I saw.
He had to know me, he said. I ran
As far away as I could. I hid
For many weeks. And the terrible
Mother Däwngale had a plan for me.
My time was near, and she said “re-turn.”
I did not listen. The Nixies laugh’d,
And I wept. I enter’d the death trance.
I too would know him, I decided.
I returned to the south but he was
I am to blame, I pray’d I ask’d Him.
And I grieved and I slept there on Earth.
And I woke and he was there I saw.
I woke and looked through the trees I saw.
I may write more, in time.
Anyone who can guess the narrator’s name get’s props.
P.S. Holy hell does verse do wonders. I was trying to figure out who wrote this. It was me, a week ago. Try it!