Forget Me Not
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Audra Symphony
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91
Prologue
RIYAH
“Hurry up, Riyah,” Oliver called.
Riyah tried to follow her cousins, but their longer legs, unhindered by heavy skirts, let them move faster. Aunt Beatrice was surely going to be displeased by the branches and thorns that snagged her clothing.
“Oliver! Arthur! Slow down,” Riyah cried. A tree branch scratched her cheek, and she winced. She could hear the boys laughing a few lengths ahead.
“Are you sure it’s this way?” Oliver asked, pausing to look around the unfamiliar woods.
“That’s what Julias said,” Arthur replied. Julias was the twins’ older brother—a grown man of eighteen with no time for childish games, yet he still made time to tell his brothers wild stories. Even Riyah was enchanted.
She would linger in her cousins’ bedroom doorway as Julias told them vivid tales of his explorations in the woods behind Rembrooke Manor.
“Once I traveled deep into the forest. Deeper than I’d ever been. There was a large boulder, white as snow, at least the height of two tall men. It was split down the middle as if a giant had struck it with a pickaxe. If you go around it, you’ll see nothing but more woods, but if you go through it, you will see a tent.”
“A tent!” Arthur had interrupted, unimpressed. Riyah wished she could have shushed him, but she knew if she made a single peep, they would shoo her away.
“Who would camp out in the middle of the woods like that?” Oliver asked.
Julias smiled and waited for the tension to build. The twins leaned in, waiting for his answer.
“A witch,” Julias whispered. Luckily, the boys’ gasps drowned out Riyah’s.
“They say if you steal her prized possessions, she’ll barter you a wish to get them back.” The boys’ eyes sparkled with intrigue.
Riyah frowned. She was far too jaded to believe in such nonsense.
“You must be careful, though,” Julias continued. “If you get caught, then you will instead be cursed like I was.”
“Cursed?” Oliver repeated, a little perturbed.
“What were you cursed with, brother?” Arthur asked.
```
Julias sighed and feigned sorrow. “I was cursed with two of the brattiest brothers one could ask for.” Julias cracked a smile.
The boys threw up their hands and started to beat his chest. Julias only laughed. Their ten-year-old fists couldn’t hurt him.
He looked past them and noticed Riyah there. She jumped when their eyes met. She expected a reprimand, but he only offered a soft smile.
“But that was just a story,” Oliver said. “Wasn’t it?” Riyah finally caught up to them as they tried to find their bearings.
“We should go back,” Riyah said, trying to catch her breath.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Oliver said.
“Keep up or we’ll leave you behind,” Arthur threatened. His words were enough to push her to follow them deeper into the woods.
She desperately wanted to hold their hands, but she knew her touch was unwanted. Though they were cousins, they never welcomed her presence.
“Oliver! Look!” Arthur suddenly shouted.
“It’s real!” Oliver shouted in disbelief.
The boys broke into a run. Riyah chased after them, but they stopped abruptly, causing her to run into their backs.
She tumbled to the leaf-covered ground, stood up with a groan, brushed off the sappy leaves stuck to her skirt, and looked around. It was the boulder!
Arthur looked shocked. Oliver had moved past surprise and started to look concerned.
Riyah was beginning to feel scared. Not only was this part of the woods dark, but it was also deathly quiet. No birds or insects could be heard.
Not even the wind rustled the leaves. The silence seemed unnatural.
“Do you really think there’s a witch on the other side?” Oliver asked.
Arthur walked to the left of the boulder and looked off into the seemingly endless woods, then repeated the same action to the right.
“Riyah,” Arthur suddenly ordered. “Go through and tell us if there’s a tent on the other side.”
Riyah squeaked, “Why me?”
“Because I said so,” Arthur taunted.
“But you two are older,” Riyah argued.
“And if the witch catches us, we would be missed. You, on the other hand…” Arthur let his words hang in the air.
Tears started to well up in her eyes.
“If you find the witch’s treasure, then you’ll get a wish, remember?” Oliver reminded her.
“That’s right,” Arthur encouraged. “You could wish for anything you want.”
“Maybe you could even wish for your parents back,” Oliver suggested.
Riyah’s chest tightened. If she could wish for her parents back, she could feel love again.
She could feel their warm embrace and hear their kind words. She could listen to her father talk about all the great things she could do, and feel her mother’s fingers running through her hair.
She could hear the words I love you.
“Go on then,” Arthur said, almost encouragingly.
Riyah straightened her back, hitched up her skirts, and climbed up to the crack. Looking through it, all she saw was more woods.
She glanced behind her at the boys. They both smiled at her, but neither smiled out of kindness.
They never smiled at her out of kindness. As always, Arthur’s smile held well-masked cruelty, and Oliver’s held poorly masked guilt.
Riyah took a deep breath and made her way through the split in the boulder. When she poked her head out the other side, she looked around.
At first, all she saw was more woods. She dropped from the boulder.
“There’s nothing here,” Riyah called.
Silence. She walked around the boulder, but there wasn’t anyone there.
“Oliver!” she called out. “Arthur?”
Where were they? Or rather, where was she?
She went back to the other side of the boulder with the intent of climbing back through its split.
Suddenly, the air in front of her shimmered. Like a mirage, a form appeared before her eyes.
She squinted until it slowly focused and sharpened. Her stomach dropped. It was a tent.
Riyah took a deep, unsatisfying breath of stale air and walked toward the tent. It looked to be made of pieces of canvas, varying in size and color.
She opened the flap. It didn’t look like anyone was inside.
She stepped in and gasped. The inside looked nothing like the shabbiness of the outside.
Thick, plush carpet covered the ground. Drapes and ornate screens separated the living spaces.
Riyah walked toward the back of the tent, where there were piles of riches. Gold and jewels were scattered about like confetti.
Riyah examined the treasure before her. She picked up a tiara adorned with rubies and diamonds, sitting on top of a pile of gold coins. She placed it on her head and walked over to a mirror, suppressing a smile as she gazed at herself.
She looked like a princess.
Something in the mirror caught Riyah’s attention. Behind her, there was a small glass box sitting on a vanity table among several beauty supplies. She wandered over to the table, abandoning the tiara absentmindedly.
Ribbons and powders and glosses were scattered about. Riyah wondered what the witch looked like. Her vanity table looked much like her aunt’s.
She lifted the glass box’s lid. Inside was a rusted silver chain with a dull sapphire bauble attached. Riyah lifted it and held it in front of her face for better inspection.
She glanced back at the pile of treasure. It was kept separate. Some place where the witch saw it every day.
It was clearly beloved. Was this the witch’s prized possession?
Riyah set it back in the box. It was time for her to leave.
She felt guilty for rifling through someone’s things. She would go back through the split in the boulder and tell her cousins there was nothing there.
She quickly retraced her steps and left. Uneasiness settled in her stomach as she breathed in the stale air again.
She had the urge to run, but fear kept her at a brisk walk.
Wind suddenly howled, breaking the deafening silence and causing Riyah to yelp in fright. Finally, she lifted her skirts and ran.
She threw any sense of bravery to the wind and let animalistic fear take over. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as if someone were chasing her.
She was too scared to look over her shoulder to check.
Riyah reached the boulder and touched its surface to reassure herself. Its rough texture eased her nerves a bit.
“You touched my things,” someone whispered in her ear.
A scream ripped out of Riyah’s throat. She scrambled up the boulder to reach its opening, but a hand grabbed the back of her dress and wrenched her down.
She fell flat on her back. Before she could get up, it gripped her throat. A woman hovered above her.
It was the witch.
Riyah squeezed her eyes shut as she trembled.
“Look at me,” the witch ordered.
She obeyed. The witch wasn’t quite what she expected.
She wasn’t ugly, with leathery skin and warts like the witches in her storybooks. This witch had smooth, unblemished skin, with only the slightest wrinkles around her ruby-red eyes.
Her lashes and eyebrows were as black as obsidian. Her hair was loose, billowing around her face and shoulders.
She had a soft yet stern look, almost as if she were disappointed in a naughty child.
“What were you doing in my home?” she questioned. Even her voice sounded matronly.
“I’m sorry,” Riyah shouted, despite the hand gripping her throat. “Please let me go.”
“Did you take anything?” the witch asked.
“I took nothing, I promise,” Riyah begged. She clawed at the witch’s wrist.
“Why not?” The witch looked at her curiously.
“S-stealing is w-wrong,” Riyah stuttered.
The witch touched a finger to her lip, as if pondering something. She floated back, taking Riyah with her.
She let Riyah go but gave her a pointed look, warning her not to move.
The witch wore pure white robes that billowed just like her hair.
“Please, let me go,” Riyah begged.
“You seemed to enjoy the tiara,” the witch mused.
“It was very p-pretty, but it is not mine,” Riyah said.
The witch began to circle her like a wolf circling its prey.
“You are the smallest person I have encountered trying to steal from me,” she stated.
“I didn’t steal—” Riyah started to protest, but she quickly cut herself off when the witch raised her hand.
“The last person was small too, but not as small as you. He stole a ring from me, but I caught him.”
A ring? Julias always wore a ring on a chain around his neck. Arthur and Oliver had asked him about it, but Julias always told them he found it in the woods one day and that the rest was a secret.
“Do you know what I did to him?” the witch asked with a teasing smile.
Riyah shook her head.
“I let him keep the ring, but in return, I took something from him,” she answered.
“What did you take?” Riyah found herself asking.
“His love and compassion.” The witch shrugged. “I cursed him to never feel such things for another living thing for the rest of his days. Though he didn’t have much within his heart to begin with. He was the young Rembrooke lord.”
The blood in Riyah’s veins went icy.
“Word of warning, dear, stay away from that boy. I’m sure he must be a young man now. He’s probably grown to become a very good actor. He’d have to be, to hide his cruelty. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Please let me go,” Riyah whimpered.
“You know the rules,” the witch said. “I caught you.” She held up her hand in a fist.
Riyah flinched away, expecting the witch to hit her, but instead, she opened her hand, and something fell out. A sapphire bauble hung by its rusty chain in front of her face.
“I can tell by the look in your eyes that you know what this is,” the witch said flatly. “My prized possession. My beloved gifted this necklace to me, but he left me betrayed and heartbroken. Yet I cannot seem to let it go.”
“I am sorry for you,” Riyah said quietly. “But please let me go home.”
“You are a clever girl,” the witch mumbled. “But your deeds must have consequences.”
“I did not steal,” Riyah argued.
In a swift motion, the witch looped the necklace over Riyah’s head.
“Your curse won’t be as bad as the boy’s,” she assured her. “Your curse is to live among the forgotten.”
The witch took Riyah’s face into her hands.
“Do not fret too much,” she whispered. “Unlike that boy and unlike me, you will know happiness, friendship, and love. For that is what the winds whisper to me.”
Riyah squeezed her eyes shut as the witch pressed a kiss to her brow. When nothing else happened, she opened her eyes.
The witch was gone.
