My name is Razi. My last name I can’t remember. I do know that my name means “my secret” and that suits me fine. I am haunted by my secrets, each one bigger and darker than the last. There’s so many of them, and I’m so tired of keeping them. Those secrets are the things that keep me up at night, the black shadows of things passed that lurk in the corners of my mind.
I think I may go crazy.
That is why I am telling you my story now, to remove this burden off myself. Each secret, each sin, I’m confessing to you. I don’t expect you to believe me; I don’t even expect you to like me when I am finished. All I ask of you is that you listen.
So here it is.
I was born in October 1411, to the bat clan but living in the griffin. My mother said I didn’t even shed one tear, no matter how cold my welcome to the world was.When I was conceived, my father didn’t love me. I don’t think anyone has.The first thing he said was that I had the eyes of a witch; one was silvery white and the other a violet blue. Mother always said they were beautiful, but I never believed her. I hated them. Now I don’t really care what they look like; I don’t care about much of anything. I think I’ve given up on myself.
I was also born blind.
But I could see things in my head. Even if my eyes didn’t work, my mind’s eye could see the world that surrounded me with sharp detail. I must have figured this out when I realized I could see with my eyes closed, and even in the dark. Eventually I learned how to use my mind’s eye like a real eye, how to turn the sight on and off and even go further, like seeing what was happening in other places. I learned how to view others’ thoughts and search their minds; a few times I thought I may have glimpsed the future. Maybe that’s why so many people were afraid of me. I
was even afraid of me.
I was never a good kid.
I was the girl that mothers forbade their children to play with, the girl who was always mean and angry and didn’t play fair. I was the one who broke the rules and tried to get others to do the same. I hated those children. I envied them. They were normal little boys and girls with round faces, pink cheeks, blonde curls, parents that loved them. They had exactly what I wanted, were exactly who I wanted to be. They didn’t deserve anything they had and that made me angry. I hated them. Their innocence. Their kindness. Everything.
There was one girl I remember in particular, Amber. Everyone loved her. She was a cute kid, younger than me—blonde, blue-eyed, petite. I looked up to her. I admired her. I longed to be her. I wanted Amber to be my friend, my only friend I would ever have….
Her mother didn’t let her. She was trying to protect her daughter from me, like I was some kind of wild animal that would rip her to pieces.
I would never have done that. I only wanted her friendship.
After that, I hated Amber too.
I never had a chance. I yearned to be one of those children so much that it hurt. I wanted to join their games, or even just to be near them. Never. I was an outcast, set apart from them with my weird eyes and bad attitude. I didn’t want weird eyes and a bad attitude; I didn’t want to be Razi. I wanted to be a part of them, but I couldn’t. Instead, I watched from the highest tree in the forest, pretending I was laughing and talking with them. Sometimes I would get so into my dreams I believed they were real and not just a fantasy I had imagined. They were so lucky to have had what they had, to be who they were. They were brats. But they were beautiful little brats. I wanted to be beautiful, and hated that I wasn’t. I wanted to be beautiful for the most beautiful person alive.
My dear, sweet, loving mother.
She didn’t see me as the girl who Father Christmas never visited, the girl who fairies never bestowed their gifts upon. She saw me as her daughter.
Her cruel, wicked, hideous daughter.
No one loved me. No one saw me as anything other than a girl with a face only a mother could love. But she did. She saw my faults, my sins, my mistakes, everything and still loved me. She saw past all that to the beauty and goodness she insisted was there, the same beauty and goodness I saw in her. I tried so hard to be perfect for her, I really tried, but it wasn’t enough. I could never repay the debt I owed her.
I was not beautiful or perfect then and I am not beautiful or perfect now.
This I know.
Nobody saw me the way my mother did. When they saw me, they would crook their fingers and call me a witch, whispering that I was destined to do horrible things.
They were right.
Mother didn’t believe them.
She would hold me and stroke my hair, whispering so only I could hear her say, “Razi, my daughter, my secret, my love.” Then I would cry, because I knew I didn’t deserve my mother or her love and never would. When she would finally release me , I would wipe my eyes and tell her I loved her, loved her with all my heart, then hurried away to the woods. She seemed to understand that was where I belonged.Then my sister Marnie was born.She was not a bat like my father and I, she was a griffin like Mother. I didn’t want a baby sister; she was only another blonde little pest to get in my way. I already knew who she would grow up to be: loving, innocent, adored. Favored over me. I despised her
.“She’s trying to replace me! Then you won’t love me anymore…you’ll hate me like everyone else.”
“You know that’s not true,” Mother said.
“Yes, she is! Don’t you get it? She’s trying to steal you from me!”
She became exactly who I knew she would be, and I despised her even more. She took away almost all the time and love from my parents that had once been mine.
The adults loved her. The children loved her. Everyone did.
Marnie made me green with envy.
I had it in my seven-year-old self that I would get rid of Marnie and win back Mother’s attention. I pondered how to accomplish this all day and night; it was the only thing on my mind, it occupied my thoughts. In the meantime, I took my anger out on my little sister.
At first it was just bullying.
I would tell her things like the monsters were out to get her, and everyone secretly hated her. I’d break her toys and her treasured possessions, fill her shoes with mud and put spiders in her hair. But even if she shrieked and cried, she always got over it. Father would carve her a new toy out of wood, Mother would tell her I was lying. Then things became serious.
I would dare her to go alone into the woods at night, and she would because she knew I did it all the time. That fool didn’t know those woods like me; I had them memorized like the back of my hand. Mother assumed Marnie was with me and was safe—for some reason she trusted me, to this day I do not know why, I did nothing to deserve her trust—but when night came and we were still not back, both our parents worried. There was only one place I could be and they knew it. When Father finally found her, bloodied and scratched and flowing with tears, they decided to keep her away from me as much as possible. Later, when Mother and Marnie had gone to bed, Father took me outside. He screamed at me and beat me, and told me if I so much as touched her or even looked at her that he would kill me. I stayed quiet the whole time, and not because I was afraid. I was furious. My hatred for Marnie thrived, growing like an angry seed inside of me.
It wasn’t until I nearly drowned her in a lake two years later that our parents realized I was a threat to her safety.
I remember watching the water, grey and below freezing in the wintertime, positive that she would never return. Then Mother and Father ran up, Father gripping me by the shoulders and shaking me, Mother staring at me, disbelieving. Father rescued her, of course, but she was still in danger of me. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and now one of us had to go.
None of our relatives wanted me, so it was Marnie who left. Nitpicky old Grandmother took her away to where the rest of the griffins lived. I was happy at first, but when my mother looked at me as they disappeared from sight, it made me want to take back everything I had done so she could be happy. Her face was twisted with a mixture of shock, pain, and disbelief, like it had been when I attempted to drown Marnie.
I finally ran away when I was thirteen.
I ran away to the woods and didn’t return until two years later. I still don’t know why I came back. I suspect it was because I didn’t trust my father to take care of Mother, maybe hoping they had forgiven me for hurting Marnie four years ago. So I returned, and what did I find? Marnie, now eight, was once again living with our parents. With me gone, they took her back. My first thought was to lunge at her—rip her, maim her, tear her to shreds—but then I remembered Mother’s expression that had pained me so much and decided not to. But I could, if I wanted to. I had learned many things from my time in the woods.
Father and I struck a deal: I was allowed to stay, but only during the daytime. At night I had to return to the forest. He didn’t trust me to be in the same house with his family—my family—when the sun went down. This is how it was until I turned eighteen in the fall of 1492.
Are you still there? Still listening?
My story isn’t finished yet.
The clans idea goes to my friend, axel08 aka Amber. She is nothing short of a genius. x]
I would really love it if someone read this and commented! Chapter One...uh...it's coming, slowly but surely.
P.S. Sorry about the character named Amber, Amber! I was out of names at the moment...