Greenling

My first memory of love came around the time I was five, or maybe six, years old. I remember standing upon a balcony of the Northern Estate, peeking up over the banister and catching my first glimpse of the world that lay beyond. Granted, I couldn’t see much – and what I saw wasn’t exactly groundbreaking

There were fields of green and gold waiting beyond the railing of that balcony. Servants worked in those fields, harvesting fruits and wheat and spices like torf; and beyond that, most of the activity was reserved for birds and a few lazy patrols of guards, along with the occasional opportunistic rabbit, or a squirrel.

There weren’t many guards within the Estate or even upon its grounds, as very few people would dare to invade a wealthy enterprise like Madam Dro’s nor be willing to face the legal repercussions even if one managed to escape with something of value. And that was even if a would-be-burglar chose not to believe in the rumors surrounding Madam Dro, and her formidable sorceries that servants whispered about in hushed tones among themselves.

The other reason there weren’t many guards – and why the few ones posted here often carried an unusual assortment of armaments, including weighted blankets and blunted scepters – was that very little of monetary value was ever kept within the Estate or even within its vaults. Nothing that was worth the trouble, certainly; clients of the Estate were encouraged to leave whatever valuables they had at home, especially during longer visits, and to bring with them only whatever personals they wished to make use of during their stay. Even the handsome exchanges of funds required by the Estate and its owners were arranged and took place entirely outside of the property, usually at the dwelling of an interested patron or at a local establishment of some kind; and in either case, alcohol was usually involved. It had to be; after all, what took place within the Estate – and whoever might be doing business there on a given day – was information generally not up for… public disclosure.

Actually, that wasn’t entirely true… but it also wasn’t something people tended to talk about, or at the very least, actually do anything about.

I remember that day and that balcony vividly because it was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on Madam Dro, the owner and proprietor of the Estate. I’d managed to give my caretakers the slip yet again, something that I didn’t find terribly difficult given the sheer number of their charges and those who delivered them; but it was Madam Dro, of all people, who happened to find me standing tippy-toe on that balcony and looking out over the produce fields while on her way to her “afternoon snuggle”.

I’d jumped half my height into the air when her palm rested gently against my cheekbone. It wasn’t menacing in any way; yet, somehow the feel of her velvet glove against my skin, and her warm breath in my ear, caused my hackles to raise for the first time I could ever recall.

“Why, darling” she purred hypnotically, making my bones vibrate and my muscles loosen, “whatever are you doing out here, all by yourself? Where are all your maidens?” (‘Maidens’ was the term given, regardless of age or even gender,  to those who tended and raised the Estate’s youngest inhabitants – at least until they were old enough to become a part of the family business, or else be relegated into becoming maidens themselves.)

I sucked in a breath, feeling fuzzy, even happy. “I’m sorry Madam Dro, they must’ve lost me. I wandered until I came to this place, hoping to see a little bit of the outside.”

Looking back, I only wished I had phrased that first part differently. I’d wanted to avoid taking the blame for my escape, you see… and, well… I succeeded in that. I did, at the very least.

She tsked melodically in my ear while her hands continued to roam across my slender body, going places I thought it strange that they should ever be going, but not really minding it either way. It felt good to be touched in this way, to be shown affection. Maidens didn’t often find the time to give intimate attention to any one child in particular; so while I was always well-cared for, ‘loved’ wasn’t exactly a word I would use to describe the procedure that was my upbringing.

“Well, that certainly will not do” Madam Dro whispered. “Let’s get you back to your family, shall we? I’m sure that this has to have been enough excitement for one day, and for such a small young man at that. You must be knackered.”

And, in fact I was. I hadn’t even noticed it until the moment she said it, but all of a sudden the day’s fatigue seemed to sweep over me like a velvety glove, caressing me into a warm sense of well-deserved bedtime.

She half-led, half-carried all the way back to my quarters with the other younglings, sparing only a moment for some sort of exchange with a few of the maidens, her hands never leaving my body. I remembered the look upon the young woman’s face whom she seemed to address most directly, because it turned a sickly shade of white, growing even gloomier as Madam Dro’s attention wandered away from the maidens and back to myself.

She led me over to my cubby and laid me down gently, swaddling me within my blankets and beneath a pleasant scent which smelled vaguely of rose petals. She didn’t say a word this entire time, though I’m not sure I was even awake enough to notice if she had.

She tucked me in with a possessive tenderness. Her hands lingered briefly on my stomach, and then lastly on my thigh before she drew away, leaving me to drift further down into a foggy sleep which held no promises of waking.

I should correct my earlier statement. I’d said that this was my first memory of love – and in truth, it really was. It was the first time I could remember being shown personal affection, the warmth of another’s touch in a way that was intended solely for me and no one else. It made me feel woozy, and happy, and oh, so very warm… And it was a warmth that would carry me on the balls of my feet for months and even years to come – at least until I began to experience a little bit more of my purpose for being born into this ‘family’, and to understand that while some touches might meant one thing, others could mean something else entirely.

If I were to correct my earlier statement, it should’ve been: ‘This was my first memory of what I THOUGHT to be love.’ Though I would’ve been wrong about even that.