Solstice Past
When I was young I found a man, fell in love and we conceived a child.
You and your closest adviser spoke of my extraordinary privilege and of the duty I owed the state in return. You spoke of a task I was needed for, something only I could do.
I agreed that I owed the state my duty so I gave up my man. You sent him away so he could better serve the state. When our child was born I gave it to you to be raised by others.
I listened when you both assured me that the task was important, that negotiations were promising, that I could do this task and do it well, and that there would be other children.
You and your adviser both promised I would be told how my child grew.
The talks ended and the result was good but I was not needed for the task you claimed.
I wanted the child you made me give up unnamed returned to raise myself but you told me that there were other negotiations and I would still be needed to fulfil that task.
So I held myself ready to serve.
Years passed. Negotiations came and went. It became clear that I would not be needed for that particular task.
I asked for my child back but your adviser told me that image was important and that I must continue to appear a maiden to our allies and that your warm-hearted aura must not be compromised.
The two of you laid waste to the hopes of my heart and sat there, surrounded by the satisfaction of duty and service well done while buoyed by your loves and descendants. With every answer you refused me the chance to pull the strings of the life I wanted back together again.
Time passed and I demanded my child be returned to me. Your adviser sent thugs to drug me and leave me in a public place. I was made to appear a woman you would not trust with a child.
The promised reports of my child’s progress never arrived. When I protested being denied even this, reminding you both of your promises, I was drugged again and forced into the added humiliation of rehabilitation I either did not need or would not have needed but for your adviser’s thugs.
Now I am hemmed about with attendants who do not know I have a child, who think me delusional if I speak of my baby and watch me like hawks for signs of a ‘relapse.’
I don’t believe I did anything to deserve this.
What is it I don’t know? What is the fact I don’t have, Mother and dearest, dearest Aunt, that makes all of this explicable?
Oh, and I know something you don’t. You could, if you wanted to, but I don’t think you’ve thought to ask.