Crown of Thorns

I stepped out the door shortly after because there was little left in my room.

I passed the always neat hallway and entered the dining room where we gathered together to eat and chat. After a long time, all the food should have rotted away, but it remained the same. Unlike the Witch’s Tower, where everything was dying, this place remained the same as it was in the past.

I didn’t die even if I didn’t eat so I left the food as it was. I just remembered the memories I had made sitting on this table. Then I turned back my steps. I didn’t bother to come here just to reminisce.

I knew it already, but my heart still throbbed as I walked around alone where there was no one else. I still feel that if I called their names loudly, they’d answer right away, I can’t believe there was no one here anymore. I’ve spent a long time and nothing has changed. I don’t know where that time has disappeared into again.

It was only yesterday that I was in the arms of my loved ones. This may also be a form of curse that has been handed down to me. To make sure I never forget. Maybe have me live through timeless memories which never fade.

So maybe that’s why I have never been unable to forget, to recover, or to go mad.

After stopping in front of one room, I carefully opened the door. The books filling the room smelled like paper. The man sitting in front of the desk will take his eyes off the book he was reading and ask what happened, but no one is there. I only live in my memory. Something in my heart burns cold.

But now tears don’t come out. Yeah, I can get used to it like this. It hurts, it’s painful and sad, but it won’t be for long. With a little more patience, I will be able to keep the promise that I was going to follow them soon. Then I can hit his chest in anger, saying, “Do you know how much I suffered because of you telling me to play a little longer then follow you?”

Walking to the desk, I stroked the sofa in the middle of the room. It was as big as a bed. I could feel the soft touch at the tips of my fingers. I often remembered sleeping here. Then my dad eventually put down what he was doing and lay down next to me. He was such a caring father. I could picture a little girl with black hair lying on the sofa and her father gently holding her. Even though it was in my memory, I was seeing it through someone’s eyes because it’s been too long.

I arrived at his desk, but I couldn’t think about what to pack because there were so many books, so I lingered for a long time. But soon I took out some. The books here are difficult. Nothing that would help the boy. I had to read then and relay only the information that he needed.

I put the books I took out on the desk and opened the drawer. I could see the book my dad always had. It was actually a notebook. He once said that he wrote down on it the questions that crossed his mind, the knowledge that he suddenly learnt, and the solutions that would be a little more helpful. I also found a notebook that summarizes his accumulated knowledge. That was the most helpful thing now. My strength doesn’t help the boy. Rather, it would be poisonous to him. All the young warrior needed was my father’s ability.

I thought I could look at it carefully and then put it back where it was. But I held it closer to my nose because it seemed like my father’s smell still lingered in its pages. I imagined him scolding me for being so childish even after living longer than anyone else.

I’m the same way I always was, deliberately acting childish to get my father’s affection, but the world has changed. Time went by so fast leaving me behind.

“Just wait until I grow the young warrior, father.”

I’m not a witch here so I had to go back to the tower now. I had to go back to being a witch.

I left the room after packing up everything else that I needed.

*

After returning to the tower, I read the books I brought. I chased after the boy even as I read. I felt busy every day. It was fun to study after a long time. As expected, only when the given time is short can you enjoy it as much as you can. There was no hesitation in thinking that there was an end. Death has long since become a great blessing that I wished for.

The boy was also living fiercely while I was building up knowledge to teach the young warrior. Perhaps because he heard that he could be strong, that he was not a monster, and that he was a warrior who will save the world, it was different from before. The boy who spent most of his time sleeping moved hard and ate as much as he could. It seemed that he had a newfound desire to live.

The villagers still feared and despised the boy who walked in and out of the forest, calling him a monster, but now they didn’t seem to care much. Of course, he was hurt, but still shook it off. He knew they’d end up sorry, so he seemed to hold it in until they did.

When the boy changed something, it was the villagers who were embarrassed. The boy, who was always hurt by their words and always looked half-dead, seemed to calmly go about his daily chores with unusual energy and vigor which made them feel uneasy. I, on the other hand, felt that time was running out. I wanted to let him stay at the tower, but I couldn’t. The boy needed a chance. There had to be a place to protect him until he grew up safely.

The witch intends to crown the warrior with hope and peace, but if he found out that his crown was all thanks to the witch, it will immediately become his shackle and turn into a thorny crown that would tighten around the warrior’s resolve.

So the witch had to be a shadow and there had to be a fence to protect the bright light of the warrior. To do so, I had to wait and endure the moment.

Then one day, the busy boy finally came to the tower. The only time he could come to the tower was when a merchant went off on a long journey. Between those journeys, he lived in a carefree life, bringing this and that from the forest according to the needs of the merchants. If there were no merchants, the boy would starve to death.

“What’s all this? You didn’t have it before.”

The boy snooped in wonder at the new addition to the tower. The first thing he said as soon as he walked in was not a hello. His distant attitude jarred down at me so I put down the book I was reading. Come to think of it, he never did say hello. Neither did I. I didn’t welcome his first. You can’t say hello to someone who doesn’t welcome you.

The boy always came to me first and I only pushed him away. It had to be different this time. I opened my mouth.

“Long time no see. How have you been?”

My greeting hardened the boy. I hurriedly lifted the book to cover up my face. I thought it was right to welcome him because it was a place that he will continue to come to, but somehow it was awkward. When I encountered the world in my memory a few days ago, I must have mistaken myself for the past me which was so out of order for my current identity.

The boy stood still for a while, then suddenly teased me with his slow steps and came up to me. I tried to hide my face with the book I was holding, but to no avail. The boy stared at me, taking away the book. Another thing that I had forgotten came to mind.

“You washed? You’ve become clean.”

I hurriedly covered my face with my hands. The terrible scars covering my face were a new shame. The boy still had a long way to be a young man, but I couldn’t forget the young man who told me he loved me. I didn’t want to look like this to the young man I’d face again someday. It was fortunate that it was dark here.

But it was no use. I was going to keep seeing him, and my scars won’t disappear if I cover them. Plus, the boy in front of me is different from the young man in my memory. I shouldn’t mistake him for the young man I remember. I should be glad and grateful for the sole fact that he can grace me with death. I must not forget that greed is endless.

I managed to put down my hand that was covering my face. Then took back the book that the boy had taken away.

“Why is the witch so young? I heard you lived for a long time.”

“Because I’m a witch.

It seems that both the boy from my memories and the one in front of me now keep forgetting who I am. I could feel the boy looking at me, but I tried to ignore him. Fortunately, I could sit still.

The boy looked over me like that for a long time. I couldn’t tell if it was amazed to see the witch’s true self, or if he was just curious to examine a new appearance that was so different from others’.

“These wounds… Did people hurt you like that?”

“Yes.”

The boy’s gaze hovered over the tips of my fingers. I flinched unconsciously but pretended not to notice his attention. The young man, who remained only in my memory, was shocked and blindsided by the fact that my wounds had been inflicted by human. Because he was human as well. The same species as the ones who made me like this.

So I wondered if this boy also harbored such a guilty conscience, but he let out a feeble breath, and looked as if he were in pain. It disappeared so quickly that I wondered if it was an illusion. The boy had an excellent ability to hide his expressions.

“… But it hurts.”

“What?”

“I’ve… been knocked unconscious by a rock the size of my fist, and I’ve been struggling all week after mistakenly consuming poisonous mushrooms because I’ve been confused. I’ve lost my fingernails while digging under the tree, and I’ve also been hit by an arrow once and haven’t been able to use my legs for a while.”

I couldn’t understand why the boy was bringing up such stories, but I listened. He suffered so much with that small body of his. Most of the pain that any boy would never experience in his life. And what’s even worse is the fact that he went through that because of fellow human beings. The wounds inflicted by your own kin always hurt more.

“There was also an instant when I beaten with a club and broke my finger, and I once got a little burn on my way out when the place I was staying at was blazed.”

“It must’ve hurt.”

“It hurt. A lot.”

Before I knew it, the boy crouched down, with his arms on his knees, looked again at my hand holding the book, and murmured quietly.

“It hurt that much, but it only left small scars.”

“…”

“How much more painful has it been to you for it to leave such big scars? I can’t even imagine.”

I was trying to focus on the book but I couldn’t see the letters. The boy seemed to sympathize with my wounds. The empathy eventually meant understanding the witch and furthermore, pitying.

Just as I felt sorry for the boy’s wounds, it meant that the boy also felt sorry for the witch’s wound.

“You must really hate them, too. The people who made you hurt…”

The boy looked at the witch’s scars and imagined the process of their creation instead of thinking they were gross or terrible. And he was comforting me, in a way that didn’t sound as if he were give consolation to himself. Unlike the youth from my memory, the boy did not consider himself part of the group that bullied the witch.

Instead, the boy, the young warrior, stepped out of his light and glimpsed the witch’s dark perspective.

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