The Wild Adventures

“I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” — W. B. Yeats

~~~

[Xanthea Plath]

I limped into the graveyard, clutching my broken arm with the other hand. Blood mixed in the rain trailed down from my shoulder to my elbow, down my wrists, making its way to my fingers that clutched the small bouquet of forget-me-not flowers.

Every flower of the bouquet was crushed and marred with blood-stains. The blue ribbon that once tied the flowers together was long lost.

The white gown, soaked by the downpour, hugged my body as if it sought to suffocate me. Inked scarlet, its hem absorbed the black tint of the ground as it glissaded over the sharp blades of overgrown grass.

Today was my mother’s twenty-third death anniversary and my twenty-third birthday.

I forced another step on the muddy grounds of the graveyard with my sprained leg. A thick curtain of rain obscured my already blurry vision. Streaks of rain trailed down my cracked glasses that hung loosely on my nose.

Panting and stifling my moans, I dragged myself closer and closer to my mother’s grave.

Perhaps it was the tears in my eyes, or perhaps it was the rainwater tracing its way down my face. The only sensation that wasn’t a struggle was feeling the coldness of the rain being absorbed against my feverish skin.

My ribs hurt with every breath.

‘No matter how much of a struggle it is to breathe, you never stop breathing. Because you know the struggles are only temporary. What’s permanent is life that death has not yet kissed.’

My mother’s words echoed in my head. I gritted my teeth, taking a deep breath even when it hurt.

Tears stung into my eyes as I gulped down the trembling lump clogging my throat.

I found my mother’s gravestone.

Freya Plath

And below her name carved on the white marble gravestone was the epitaph — “Forget me not.”

I didn’t need much effort as I sank to my bruised knees and offered the blood-stained flowers to my mother’s memory.

I bowed until my nose touched the ground and finally broke into tears. The flood of emotions that had sustained me through the harrowing journey finally snapped.

I had never met my mother when she was alive, but now she lived through me.

And through her diaries, she had come alive to me. My heart filled with an unfathomable warmth and the utmost respect when I thought of her. I knew her closer than any daughter would have ever known their mother.

I knew her like a friend, like a secret keeper, like an equal. Through her words, I knew her heart and now it feels as though my heart had been replaced by hers, filled with her smiles and laughter that I never got to see or hear. Yet I felt them all so closely, it hurt.

I fell in love with everything this woman was and everything she could have become only if the alpha’s eyes didn’t fall on her.

My mother was an omega, just like me. It was a world of cruel hierarchy, where the alpha commands over all the dreams of everyone in the pack. Under his command, an omega wasn’t allowed to dream of anything greater than their rank granted. We dwelled at the bottom of the food chain. Our value was confined and limited to serving the ones who held the higher ranks.

But my mother dared to dream. She dared to have wings to fly high and higher were her ambitions. So high it seemed impossible for an omega to achieve in this world of power, ranks, and politics.

Her wings that I broke by coming to life. Because after that, my mother’s eyes were too lifeless to dream anymore. So I replaced my eyes with hers, transplanted her dreams into the sole reason for my existence.

And now, if I am not her dreams, her words, her ideals, I don’t know who I am.

They say you can’t miss a person you’ve never met, but I miss every second of my life as I imagine how my life would have been if she were still alive.

Maybe my bones would have broken less, perhaps I would have lesser scars. Perhaps then I wouldn’t be so lonely. Perhaps I’d know what love felt like.

But my mother died during the delivery and so the illegitimate daughter of Alpha Valdimir Virgo was born of an extra-marital affair.

Obviously, everyone in the palace hated me. Maybe things would have been different if I inherited my father’s alpha genes. But I was grateful that I didn’t.

I’d rather have a strong mind and a warm heart than brute strength and a cold ego.

More than anyone else, I was an eyesore for Luna Meesa Virgo. She couldn’t tolerate the mere sight of me. She wanted to throw me out of the palace the moment I was born, but Alpha kept me in the palace until I turned eighteen and then he asked me to leave.

I shifted into a small house that my mother owned, which itself was an exceptional feat for an omega, since most couldn’t afford it. They lived in either the servant quarters or in the shabby slums.

I didn’t even know how badly those eighteen years of my life had broken me. But after beginning an independent life in my mother’s home, I started healing.

My mother worked as a florist in the royal palace. She loved her job of cultivating flowers and medicinal plants. Her knowledge in herbology surpassed every book I’ve read so far. She wasn’t just cultivating, but creating new varieties, new species.

She mentioned it all in her journals, diaries and books, the legacy she left behind for me.

Alpha now had an heir to the throne, twenty-two-year-old Nikolai Virgo, the crown prince. And a legitimate daughter, nineteen years old Nathalia Virgo.

Both of them were born with true alpha genes.

I received monthly maintenance money from him, but I never used that money.

Ever since I left the palace, I have worked to support myself and my studies.

I didn’t want anything to do with the royal family or its people. I had been preparing for the International Medical Entrance Exams for years. After qualifying for that exam, I was planning to leave the pack for good.

Or that’s what I thought. The entrance exams were tomorrow.

“They knew, mom. Luna knew how important this exam was for me. That is why they did this to me…” I broke down into sobs. “How do I write the exams with a broken hand?”