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发帖数: 10817 | 1 I enjoy hiking and being active, （Strikethrough）~~~especially with my
younger siblings~~~. Here is a quote that I strive to live by:
“When I have tried and failed, I shall have failed.”
孩子真不错 勇于尝试 情感细腻
这故事显然受了他爸平常碎碎念的那些
他爸讲他奶奶毛时代饿死3000万 + 计划生育时代尿盆溺死婴儿
Changeling
Leah coos at the child in her arms. Earthy brown eyes stare back as Lilith
laughs at her mother. When Leah yawns, the child responds in kind. She opens
her mouth wide before continuing to giggle.
Despite the days growing longer, the evening breeze is still cold. It’s a
wonder Lilith hasn’t been sick yet. Leah hums a lullaby. Three months was
too early to tell though. Infants were delicate, and she wouldn’t be the
first in the village to lose their child by winter.
Hearing snores, Leah looks down. Lilith’s delicate features almost beg for
protection. This child would be different, she promises herself. It had
taken the couple so long. When she pulls the blanket over Lilith, the infant
reaches out and grabs her mother's finger. Yes, this child would have the
world. Hand in hand, the two fall asleep.
The moon shines high in the night, but all is quiet. Not even the buzz of
cicadas can be heard. Through the window, light spills onto the ground. It
flickers, then burns. The wind sings and the air condenses into an
unfamiliar form.
"Hush now," comes the gentle whisper. The stranger steps toward the cot with
a blanket wrapped bundle.
"If tales of old are true, then this is the only way." The figure pauses and
looks down; they can't bear to let go.
"I’ll leave you in their care."
They place their own child on the bed. Lilith stirs. Seeing the other child,
the stranger sighs. They bring their finger to Lilith's forehead, causing
the child to frown. A whispered incantation fills the room, causing the air
to hum until they bring their finger back to their own child's forehead.
The children could be twins.
"And in exchange, I promise to care for this one."
The stranger picks up Lilith. As if knowing what would happen, Lilith rolls
over and opens her eyes. She gives a surprised cry when she comes face to
face with someone clearly not her mother. Lilith hiccups, then cries harder,
her soft hands pushing away this unfamiliar being. Her eyes frantically
search the room before landing on her mother. With one final burst of energy
, she stretches out for her mother’s familiar hands, only to miss by
millimeters.
"Hush now." The stranger moves toward the window.
Leah mumbles something incoherent and reaches out to pat her child. When her
hand meets with only sheets, she jolts awake. Sitting up, Leah is greeted
with a flare of moonlight. She blinks a couple times before shaking her head
. Her eyes must be playing tricks. The wind outside whispers just as softly
as before, and Lilith sleeps just as soundly as before. Only, she'd managed
to roll to the edge.
Leah sighs and carefully picks her child up. As she tucks Lilith in again,
the child mumbles and opens their eyes.
Under the moonlight, Leah swore she saw a flash of blue. She blinks and
Lilith's eyes return to normal. Patting her child to sleep, Leah starts to
nod off. Lilith blinks one last time before turning her head to the side and
closing her eyes.
This time Leah sees it clearly. Blue. Lilith's eyes were partly blue.
But Lilith's eyes have always been brown. Surely three months was a little
late for her eyes to start changing color? Leah bites her lip and sits up.
Either way, change would be gradual. She rests her chin in her hands, but
finds herself uneasy. A million thoughts run through her head but not a
single one makes sense. No longer tired, she paces in front of her bed. The
blue eyes, the shimmering moonlight, the cries. She hadn't imagined any of
it.
Pausing her steps, Leah recalls a legend passed down from mother to child.
Strange beings were said to live in the forest by the village. Strange
beings with strange powers. She turns to Lilith.
"Changeling?"
*
Night melted to day, and day to weeks. In a blink, winter arrived. Lilith,
or the child posing as her, had grown.
Leah meant to keep it a secret. Of course, her husband had a right to know.
But when she broke the news, he pursed his lips and drew his brows together.
That was his way of coping. Leah, however, had a chestful of thoughts.
Naturally, she told a couple close friends. Those close friends told close
friends and soon enough, the entire town knew. It was to be expected. With a
close-knit community like theirs, secrets could hardly be kept.
Of course, she hadn't expected the other women to take the news calmly. But
this new child was still just that - a child. Bring misfortune her foot.
What could a child - human or not - do? The poor thing could hardly stop
crying that first month. What were their hearts made of?
But maybe the problem was her own heart. For many years now, she’d wanted a
child. Was her wish so desperate that she was willing to take in some other
creature? She did care, but was it out of love? Or was it some twisted
desire to simply hold a child, any child, and see them live?
Leah sighs. Standing in the kitchen, she keeps one eye on the oven and
another on Lilith. The child crawls around the blanket, entertaining herself
with small clay dolls. Unlike other children Leah knew, Lilith liked to hit
the dolls against each other, laughing when they clacked and broke.
Leah knows better than to try to stop her - the child would cry with staunch
resolve until her toys were returned. She couldn’t help but wonder if this
sort of play is normal. Though nobody else mentioned their children
purposefully abusing their toys, surely every child was unique?
She thinks instead of the last few months. Lilith indeed grew well. Her
straw-like hair became healthy brown locks that gathered at her cheeks. Her
complexion too, was much better than before. She practically glowed.
Leah almost smiles when Lilith walks over. Almost. Though she held the wall
for support, this was still far earlier than other children in the village.
Strange, the other women said.
“Dinner.” The child’s clear pronunciation never ceased to amaze Leah.
Unnatural - even Leah would admit.
Seeing the bread, Lilith turns her pleading eyes to Leah. The woman blinks.
Lilith had just eaten. She hesitates before speaking, but her husband's
arrival interrupts her.
He frowns at Lilith and Leah's heart twists. She hears everything he doesn’
t say. Winter came harshly this year, following an equally dry summer. Their
food would barely be enough to see the new year, yet Lilith happily ate
away.
"Rats got into the grain." Leah's eyes snap up. Humans weren't the only ones
going hungry. Of course, it’d be better if humans weren’t going hungry.
Her eyes drift towards Lilith.
"Bad luck. It's been a bad year."
He shrugs and drops the topic. But his eyes constantly flicker between his
wife and Lilith. Leah shakes her head.
"It's only bad luck."
After dinner, her husband hands her a letter. Her sister-in-law's sweeping
cursive covers the envelope. Leah frowns. They only lived a couple towns
away. And they visited no more than a week ago. Maybe they’d forgotten
something?
She bites her lip.
The letter is only a few sentences long. Leah looks up. Her husband stares
back. His impassive expression makes her wonder if he'd known. Or perhaps he
wrote this - him and the other villagers that wanted Lilith gone. Leah
shakes her head; they would never.
Unwittingly, she looks down at Lilith. The girl looks back, laughing. She’s
managed to make different tones from the broken pieces of doll. Seeing the
butchered doll and that blissfully ignorant smile, Leah feels an
inexplicable anger.
But it isn't the child’s fault. It's simply bad luck. Everyone knew that
after famine came disease. Everyone knew.
It’s a coincidence, Leah tells herself.
"Let's rest." Strangely enough, her husband is the voice of reason. Leah
nods dumbly. Tonight though, she finds the toddler’s pre-bed antics
infuriating rather than precocious.
*
"Why don't you go back to your mother now? You're healthier now." The child
briefly looks up before turning back to her broken dolls. Squatting next to
her, Leah feels somewhat ridiculous. Here she was, addressing an infant as
if they could understand.
But maybe she did understand. After all, the villagers said that Fae were "
wise beyond their years." She sighs.
"Leah?" A knock comes. Leah walks over and invites Hazel in.
"I'm sorry about your brother."
Leah simply forces a smile and pulls up a chair for her. But Hazel shakes
her head.
"No, I only dropped by to see how you were doing." She eyes the infant
warily. "My husband's waiting."
Hazel turns to leave, but trips before making it to the door. Leah rushes to
help her up.
"No worries, I'm just clumsy." She all but runs out the door. The child
looks up and laughs, as if she finds others' misfortune funny. It was
unnatural. Strange, Leah decides. Almost wicked. This child would never
truly be hers; she couldn’t accept it.
It’s now or never, Leah tells herself. Rumor had it that sickly Fae
children needed human milk. Now that this child was healthy, wasn’t it time
for her to return?
Besides, what of Lilith? If this one could bring so much misfortune to their
small town, how would her own child fare, living amongst the Fae? It would
be better for everyone if the children were swapped back.
She glances at the child and silently hopes the townsfolk knew what they
were talking about.
Without a word, Leah turns to heat the water. The leaves Morana gave her are
still fresh. Thank goodness. Wondering where Morana even found the plant,
Leah drops the foxglove into the water. It’s just a bath, she reasoned. As
long as the child didn't drink any, there’s no harm done.
Though, Leah wonders if the child would be harmed either way. They were
creatures of the forest after all.
Leah briefly dips her hand into the water. Warm. She takes it off the fire
and brings it over to the child. Curious, the child crawls over and looks
into the tub.
"It's a bath." She answers the question in the child’s eyes.
"Don't worry." Leah didn't know if she was comforting herself or the child.
Taking a deep breath, Leah tries to still her trembling hands. The child
giggles at first. She found the leaves in the tub amusing, splashing the
water and watching the leaves drift. But soon enough, the child was crying.
She tries to push the leaves away, shrinking towards the side of the tub
where Leah was. She grabs at Leah's arm, but doesn’t receive the comfort
she needs. The child looks up, only to find pale determination written
across the older woman’s face. Desperate, she tries to climb over herself.
When she fails, her wails grow louder.
"Shh." Leah frowns.
"You have to stay. This way you mother will come find you." But would a
mother who left their child with strangers even come back?
The child is inconsolable. Splashing, crying, and standing up - she tries
everything to leave the water.
"Stop it!" Leah's voice comes out sharper than she intends. She blinks
rapidly. The child screams and gasps, her breaths choking out between
stutters and sobs. She pries at Leahs hands - the only thing keeping her in
the tub - and mercilessly kicks at her wooden cage.
“Stop it.” Leah manages a whisper before her breath catches too. She sees
double. Double of the child, double of Lilith, double of her child. The
hands holding Lilith down are now submerged in the bath. Red and numb, Leah
wonders who they belong to. They couldn’t possibly be her own. She’d
promised to cherish her only chance. She’d promised Lilith the world. So
why, why did those hands lead to her arms? Why was her child crying?
“No,” Her mind clears briefly. “It’s the only way.” Trembling, she
forces her hands to stay. This child wasn’t Lilith. But why does her heart
suffocate so? The child screams louder.
Outside, the wind picks up. Scattering clouds partly reveal the sun.
Peculiarly, light seems to burn into the dirt floor. It flares once, then
explodes in a cloud of glittering dust.
Both Leah and the child fall silent.
Standing before them is a tall, elegant figure. Set in golden brown skin,
the stormy grey eyes seem to stare through Leah. It was as if the earth had
taken human form.
"So be it, human." The Fae doesn’t arrive empty-handed. A toddler sits in
their arms, looking with wonder at this strange earthy home.
Lilith. Leah stands up with a shout of joy, completely forgetting the child
in the tub.
The Fae shakes their head. Setting Lilith down, they move to take their own
child. With gentle hands and soft words, they cradle the tired toddler in
their arms. Their eyes burn with anger, but they say nothing.
And then they were gone. The clouds drift back, shading the townspeople
again. But Leah notices none of this. She fusses over Lilith. Was her child
treated well? Did she ever go hungry? Was she ever cold? She runs her hands
through Lilith’s hair, down her arms, and over the girl’s hands. The soft
skin is warm under her own, reminding her that this is, in fact, real. Leah
meets Lilith’s curious eyes and her own mist over.
She hugs the girl tightly. Her child was home at last.
*
The townspeople didn’t accept this news as readily as the earlier rumor.
Lilith still had her strange gait. She also took to watching the wandering
minstrels from the window, sometimes even clapping along.
The people couldn't help but wonder if Leah lied. Originally, wasn’t she
the one that wanted to keep the child? However, after seeing Lilith
themselves, they had to admit she was different. Her hair was now a deep
brown and her eyes were larger and softer. They held none of the previous
child’s cunning. Most importantly, this Lilith hadn't spoken a word since
Leah said she'd returned.
With the melting of the snow, the whispers gradually died down and the
matter was all but forgotten.
But Leah couldn’t forget. It sat in her heart, stifling each breath. She
watches Lilith playing with the broken dolls. Much like the other child,
Lilith liked to hit the piece of clay against each other, smiling when she
made different tones.
As if feeling her mother's eyes on her, Lilith stands up and plods into the
kitchen. Though Lilith didn't speak, Leah still felt the child strange.
Every action carried purpose. Lilith never wandered curiously, never took
interest in new toys, never startled at strangers. Arriving at Leah's side,
Lilith tugs on her mother's apron.
"Dinner?" Leah takes a step back.
"What did you say?" Her eyes widen, before dropping into a frown. Impossible.
The word echoes in her mind throughout the evening. Lilith's sharp voice and
clear enunciation terrify Leah. Under the harsh moonlight, Leah unsteadily
pats the girl to sleep. When Leah moves to lie down, Lilith sleepily blinks
and mumbles.
Blue. Leah swears she sees a flash of blue. She sits up. It can’t be. With
a heart full of doubt and eyes full of hate, Leah is blind to Lilith’s
earthy brown eyes.
"Changeling." |
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