Golden Box Book Publishing One Picture: Thousands of Words - Page 39

“I was making soup in the castle kitchen when the attack came.” I let my bitterness and anger leach into the words. I stepped closer to Ang’Liamnar as though to add impact. “My twin sister was ill with a cough that made her bark like a walrus and being so closely linked that we were, her affliction grated on me. I wanted her to get well. She was getting married in less than a week. I worried how she might say her vows without a voice? I worried where she might fit the obscene number of crumbled tissues in a dress that was virtually nothing but lace to begin with.” Ang’Liamnar forgotten, I swallowed hard emotions. With a stab to the heart, my memories bloomed. “She couldn’t wait to be married. I wanted her day to be perfect and so I was making soup – the next best thing I could think of after magic, but she’d declined my offer of healing. See, she had none of my Affinity; no Talent; so she ‘made do’ – still, it was obvious to me that I should help, but she was always the stubborn one. I could have forced her, but that was not my style so I went to help her in the regular way - I was often in the cellar kitchen anyway, so none of the staff battered an eyelid when I came to make my non-magic potions and lotions. Like any other day, Cook greeted me with an affectionate but respectful, “M’grace Etruia, well met today. Will you require any help?” I paused. Fond memories wilting. “I loved Cook. She made no fuss when I declined. My sister’s reluctance to embrace my help had annoyed me but I was soon lulled back into an affable mood by the casual background noise of the kitchen alive with people and activity. I remember pondering whether to add garlic and deciding for it; I remember the fat clove smashing under my palm when I broke it against the wooden board, and then-”