All I ever wanted was to love and be loved. It is but a trite to ask, yet there has been naught in this world that would evidence itself as love for one such as I. The whole of my days has been the reminder that I am Athair’s daughter. I did not ask for such a fate. However, here am I, the peculiar child of Neville, the Béarla traitor.
Upon Athair’s demise, I had been stripped of all that was he. My name became that of my clan, McCormick. But, there is one thing of which I could never be stripped, despite the best efforts of the men of science. I am the legendary Wishing Woman of Johnsport. Whatever it is that I wish is so, just as I desire it to be.
As a child, I took pity on the pathetic excuse of a sister who runs about the world like a rabbit scared of her own shadow. It is I who created The Butterfly Fields for her. Many years we gallivanted through the forests and meadows. Yet, she abandoned me for books! Books! She had no care or concern the men of science would hunt me like the wild game of the canyons. She abandoned me just the same, to save herself. I had no choice but to flee into the confines of The Butterfly Fields.
She shall tell you she had gone in search of this elusive God that shall save us both. But, even one such as I knows that He Who Created All Things is not to be found out there. He is not to be found within the pages of books, or at the road’s end. Nay, He is not. Had she been attentive to the stories of which I told in The Butterfly Fields, Elsie would well know He Who Created All Things is found within; not without.
The knowledge of this changes naught for me. There are those on whom He places great love and favor, and those who He abandons in the darkness of the wilderness. They left to their own means and device, just as I have been. There is no compassion for the imperfects of the world. There is no love for those who have not the perfect form and condition as those in the village.
I well know the blame for all that is has been placed at my feet. However, it is I, and I alone, who controls these fields of butterflies. It is I who controls the comings in and goings out. It is I who has built this palace of fire and ice. Lord McCain, though he fancies himself my equal, is naught but a play thing for my own pleasures. He scurries back and forth to the College of Alnae, bringing news of dear Elsie’s fate. But one day…one day soon, she shall know that it is I, her elder sister, the poor Wishing Woman, who holds the scissors at her strings. On that day, I shall gain my rightful place at the head of the Elder table; at the head of the clan.
Note to Readers: This is only a character profile in The Chrysalis Series. It does NOT reflect my personal views on God or the ways in which he chooses to interact with us. It is the fictional character of Annalicia McCormick.
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(c) The Chrysalis Series and all books and text thereof are the intellectual property of Donna R. Wood. All rights reserved and subject to International Copyright Laws.