Tell me a hopeful story :)

theladyragnell:

(This is the kind of rough hope I’ve been needing lately. Hopefully it feels the same for you.)

Lyka
lives a sweet life.

She
had a long childhood in a quiet village untouched by whispers of
trouble, and when the whispers reached her, they were only whispers.
She learned to work the land and to love it, and she learned to love
a man and to work with him, and in
time she bore a child for them, a young and happy mother with a life
stretching ahead of her like a road with no bends in it.

Lyka’s
sweet life ends on the third day of her son’s life, when the
soothsayer comes to bless him and advise her where the needs advice.
Lyka expects a kind fortune, just like hers was, but the soothsayer
looks at the little boy and sinks to the ground like her bones are
filling with lead.

“He’s
going to kill the great darkness in this land,” says the
soothsayer. “There have been prophecies about its slayer, and he
…” She stops, must know what those words could do to a mother.

Everyone
knows of the darkness, but it doesn’t come to here. It doesn’t come
to them. Lyka and her son are meant to go their lifetimes without
ever coming close to it. She picks up at her son, looks down at his
funny little nose and the one forlorn patch of hair decorating his
head and the constant expression like he’ll sneeze at any moment. She
thinks of raising a boy into a hero instead of a man, thinks about
him being born into a story without any say, without any choice.

“No,”
says Lyka.

*

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