“I should have gone after her. Why didn’t I?” the matron asked herself over the years.
Anya was still young at the time. Her elder sister set out on a stormy night to secure bitter root for their mother’s aching tooth. Tytanya was never seen again.
Eighty years, and the younger can’t quite seem to forgive herself for not going after the elder.
“Perhaps she met a man who swept her away. Now she lives in a palace among the desert sands,” she would tell herself in her younger days.
Wiser now, the woman knows fairy tales are for children, not remorseful siblings.
Anya stands alone at the water’s edge and remembers Tytanya. The sisters gave each other joy growing up in Folksburywoods.
“Wherever you are, I wish happiness and joy be your companions,” whispered Ayna. The matron stood and reflected on the moments that make up a life. Then, she tossed the lily into the lake and wished for luck.
“The road is long, but the journey makes it tolerable,” Anya said with a wry smile.
“It’s Time for tea. We can’t forget the important aspects of life,” said the matron as she headed home.
Arriving home, she turned the door’s handle. There was her husband with a smile of understanding and a hot cup of tea.
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