Evie Sharpe
London based American expat, single mom, lover of books, trying to write things I would want to read.
Evie Sharpe
London based American expat, single mom, lover of books, trying to write things I would want to read.
London based American expat, single mom, lover of books, trying to write things I would want to read.
London based American expat, single mom, lover of books, trying to write things I would want to read.
Growing up with a critical parent takes a toll on a child. They grow into people pleasers, lacking confidence and suffering from self doubt and depression. This can lead to unhealthy relationships in adult life. They often end up with abusers. I did. For ten years I lived in a hell of my own making. I suffered emotional, financial and sexual abuse. I thought I didn’t deserve better. I thought I wasn’t worthy of love, success, or even friendship. I lost my true self somewhere along the way. When I finally walked(ran) away, I was at the lowest point a person can be. I very nearly ended my life. But then, one day I found myself singing while washing the dishes. It seems a little thing, but suddenly I was laughing because I had not done so in a decade. I laughed until tears came, and then I let the grief come. I cried for the little girl who had to be a pawn between two parents. I cried for the teen that was led to believe a normal infatuation with boys made her a whore. I cried for the young adult that forgot to dream because it apparently made her think she “was better than everyone”. And I cried for the woman that allowed herself to be degraded to the point of contemplating suicide. I let it all out, all the toxicity. All the hurt, all the wasted years, just came pouring out. And it was that night that I first picked up a pen to write again. It felt good to pour my thoughts onto paper. It wasn’t a story that night, but a manifesto of sorts, a road map of what I wanted and how to get there. It was cathartic. And now, I am halfway there. I fought my way through the flames of hell, and I came out stronger than I have ever been. I see now that this is my only life. It’s to be lived without regrets, always reaching for the stars. I know it won’t always be rainbows and roses, but I also know that I cannot and will not go back to being the victim I was before. Some people don’t seem to like the new me. They don’t like that I have a voice that I no longer fear to use to speak my truth. But, these are the same people that only cared about me as long as I was what they wanted me to be. Guess what? That’s just too damn bad! My name is Evie Sharpe. I am a survivor, a fighter, a dreamer and a free spirit. Nobody will ever take that from me again. This much I know to be true.
She woke with a start, forgetting for a moment where she was. Then it came rushing back. There had been a meeting between her father and the king of this realm. Peace had been bought. She had been taken in an exchange of dignitaries. Call it what you like, it was still obvious that she was a spoil of a war that had never actually happened. As long as she obeyed the rules, Earth would be safe. As long as she went along with her fate, she would not be harmed. Sitting up, she reached for the silken robe on the chair beside her bed. It was chilly here at night, when the sun disappeared below the horizon. She had learned in the few days since she arrived that while many things were the same here, just as many were strange to her. Not all of it was frightening. Some things were breathtaking and indescribably beautiful. She stepped out onto the balcony and looked up at the night sky. A beautiful green aurora shimmered before her, and the twin moons seemed low enough to touch. This never failed to make her smile. Somewhere in the distance, a houndaloe, a creature resembling a fox, but the size of a wolf, raised a mournful cry. “I know how you feel. I’d cry, too if I thought it would change anything,” she said. “It won’t. The king has spoken. But if it makes you feel any better, I promise not to tell anyone you cried.” She turned, startled, and fell into a low curtsy. She had not seen the prince in the shadows. “Forgive me, your highness. I spoke out of turn. Your father has been generous in his care of me.” The prince laughed. “Yes. So generous that he keeps you prisoner and plans to marry you off to a stranger.” Having not been aware of the latter, she looked frightened, but said nothing. She was, truthfully in no position to protest. Earth’s survival depended upon her willingness to obey. “Well aren’t you a well trained little pet? Poor little Earthling. Well tonight, you should have a drink to celebrate the happy news.” He reached for her hand, leading her inside and down the hall to a room she had never noticed. Her bare feet were cold on the stone floor. She remained silent and watched as he poured her a small glass of moonflower wine. The thick opal liquid was a favourite here, but far stronger than anything on Earth. “To the future princess of our realm.” She looked up in stunned disbelief, but then obediently took a tentative sip of the wine. She wanted nothing more than to run as fast and far as possible. But even if she made it over the crystalline bridge that led to the ships, she had no way of flying one. Maybe she could hide in the forest. But there were far fiercer creatures than the houndaloes there. Looking up at the prince, she was very tempted to take her chances. A thousand such creatures seemed preferable to his mocking indifference. But in her heart, she knew she could not. She had been chosen for a reason. She would not let her people suffer. “Thank you for the drink, my prince. I must return to my room now.” With another low curtsy, she left the room, returning to her own through a maze of halls. There, she sat near the window, watching the aurora and wishing for home until dawn came, and with it the hope of a new day.
He did wish she would stop pretending not to see what was clearly in front of her. She was by no means obtuse, though at times she seemed to wilfully misunderstand him. Was it fear, disinterest, or perhaps even dislike ? She was so very hard to read.
Certainly he had been overt in his pursuit of her affections. Yet she still showed only a polite interest. She made certain never to be alone in his presence. And on the rare occasion it had happened that they were alone together, she made certain to keep a healthy distance between them.
He struggled to believe it to be fear of all men. After all, she was the only daughter in a family of five children. She had an easy friendship with many of her brothers’ friends. But if it was a fear of him specifically, he could not figure out why. He’d never been unkind.
Perhaps he had been too persistent in trying to commandeer her heart. Perhaps a less straightforward approach would be necessary.
She sat quietly unnoticed in the corner, stroking the host’s cat, and watching the other party goers chatting, dancing and drinking. She briefly wondered if it would be rude to slip away, but then as if sensing her thoughts, her sister wandered over to check on her. “For goodness sakes, Lizzie, mingle. You’re embarrassing me.” “These are your friends. I don’t know anyone here. Besides, Mr. Floof and I are having fun.” Her sister rolled her eyes and flounced off in a huff. Lizzie settled back into her chair and tried to make herself invisible. She wasn’t good with strangers. Small talk was physically painful to her. She could feel her mouth go dry just thinking about having to come up with some mindless chatter. People watching was much easier. She liked imagining what was going on in their lives. Better still was how people spilled secrets in front of her, either not noticing her, or just not caring that someone as boring as she would hear. As the night wore on, she remained unnoticed. So far she had learned of three affairs, two looming divorces and an unexpected pregnancy. It was a good thing she wasn’t a gossip, or else many a life might be ruined.
It was so much harder than she had expected. After facing a horde of ice warriors only yesterday, without even breaking a nail, you’d think this would be easy. But, no. This had her terrified. What would he say? Would he believe her? Would he tell her secret? Would he still like her? Taking a deep breath, she looked him in the eyes and took off her glasses. “I’m just going to come out and say it. I...am...I...I’m Fantabulous Girl. I save the world on a daily basis, I’m not just a boring librarian, and I am in love with you.” He looked at her and smiled. “You know, for a librarian you aren’t very smart at times. I’ve known all of that for the last year. Those glasses were hardly a good disguise.” “But...well why didn’t you say something?” “We all have secrets. I knew you’d tell me eventually.” Fantabulous Girl hugged him. “You really are the best!” He pulled her closer and smiled. For a moment, a flash of green fabric was revealed beneath his hoodie, but he quickly adjusted it. Yes, everyone had secrets. His was that he was the villain she had been hunting. He was Viper Man. But she could never know...
The moon in her quiet beauty shone bright in the darkness of the cloudless night.
The meadow where once as lovers we had lain was quiet that night though I tried in vain
To remember the sound of your voice and laughter; to hold onto happily ever after.
But you had gone and left me here to live alone and face loneliness and fear.
The sky full of stars seemed dead and cold; a place once so magical now hurt to behold.
His eyes hint at an old soul, and there is often a hint of sadness there. His skin is clear and baby soft. His Cupid’s bow lips seldom smile, but when they do it lights up a room. His long lashes are the envy of many a woman in the family. It’s unfair a seven year old boy be gifted with such perfect lashes. His sweet button nose has long been a delight. It has been “booped” from day one. His brow is often furrowed in thought, though they relax when he sleeps. It is the face I most love.
All in a golden afternoon, under the skies of cloudless blue, I remember a similar day, the one when I met you. How I wish I could turn back time and simply walk away. You ruined my life and left me with days of endless gray. Who knew a monster hid behind the smile that took me in. And only when I was free from you did I learn to live again.
She couldn’t remember a time before her exile to Ironwood. Time had ceased to mean anything here. The solitude was at times too much to bear. It was during those times that she was tempted to use the magic that had brought her to this fate.
She longed to see her children one more time; to see HIM one more time. But it could not be. The world believed her dead. After all, she had been put to the pyre. The village had watched her die. Little did they know it was an illusion.
And so, she spent her days in the small cottage at the heart of the forest, tending her small garden, her goats and chickens, and longing for things that could never be again. It wasn’t a bad life, she mused. And after all, her children were safe now. That thought helped her when the loneliness crept in.
As she sat outside in the fading twilight, a cool breeze teasing her hair from her loose braid, she thought about what had brought her here. Her fingers never stilled as she spun the wool through the wheel in front of her. Had she truly deserved her fate? When she was honest with herself, which wasn’t often, the answer was yes. She had broken the first rule of the sisterhood. “Harm ye none.” She had done great harm in hurt and anger. She had driven a gentle soul to madness for cruel words spoken to her children.
And for what purpose? In truth, they were the bastards the woman had named them. She had no claim on their father, save for his affection. She had not known he was married. But in her heart, she knew it would not have mattered. She was no more capable of refusing him than she was of drawing blood from a turnip.
And now she had lost him, her darling fierce boys, and her gentle, trusting daughter. Her only consolation was that he would keep them safe. But somewhere deep inside, a nagging voice whispered that she should have one glance to be sure. That voice grew more insistent with each passing day.
She gave in, closing her eyes, and reaching out with her magic. And then she opened her eyes with a sigh. No, today would not be the day. She could not bring harm to the ones she loved by so much as a whisper of her presence.
And so, Angrboda, witch of the Ironwood, returned to the cottage, her magic contained for now. She would live as a mortal for this time. She would allow herself to be forgotten, a whispered name of myths of old.