The memories she had of that smell…
Gods, how she needed the poppies to burn. Her forging had released so many feelings and memories from their cages, and she needed them back where they belonged. Where they could no longer torment her. Where she could pretend none of it had ever happened. Then maybe she could hold herself together.
Just as she was about to lower the torch to the far end of the poppy field, the softhooof an owl stilled her hand.
Iryana’s head tilted back, her eyes burning.
You can do this, little owl.It was like she could hear her mother’s voice as if she were there in the clearing with her.
“Wherever you are, Mother,” Iryana whispered into the meadow. “I think you would appreciate this.”
She lowered the torch to the flowers, watching as the flames jumped to the petals, quickly burning them away and starting on the bulk of the plant.
They weren’t very flammable flowers, unfortunately, so Iryana walked in rows, snaking back and forth as the poppies burned. Somewhere around the fourth pass, she realized tears were trailing freely down her face.
She was so angry that the poppies had ever existed. That they had found their way into the Dovaki Post. Into the hands of the brigade. That her family had resorted to giving it to her father when the pain in his leg had grown too great.
Her throat burned with her desire to scream, but she wasn’t that stupid. The dakii wouldn’t come close enough to the fire to see her, but they would be out in the woods. Watching.
As she watched the fire grow, torch in one hand and scarf held over her nose and mouth with the other, Iryana heard her father’s voice. Like his ghost could sense the poppy she was burning and wanted to torment her.
Of all the things she tried to block out, she tried to forget his words the hardest. The memories of him.
Why are your dolls all over the floor? Are you trying to kill me? Losing a leg wasn’t enough?
Iryana sucked in a deep gasp, the smoke making her cough.
What have you done?
The torch trembled in her hand.
Stop crying. It was your fault.
“Please stop,” she whined, breaths hard.
If only you’d listened, been a good little girl like Hadima, maybe your mother wouldn’t have left you.
Iryana was only halfway done, but each step grew harder. She couldn’t stop.
You drove them away; that’s why.
She stumbled a few paces from the flames and crashed to her knees.
It’s good they’re gone, little one. Then they can’t see how broken we are.
“Stop,” she cried, shaking.
Misha deserves better. Best she’s nowhere near us.
Iryana dropped the torch entirely, crawling away, but she could hardly see the flowers beneath her hands through the tears and smoke clogging her eyes. It felt like her heart had torn straight out of her chest.
You can’t even pretend to be good, can you? You try so hard, and yet you’re still rotten at your core. What a pair we make.
“Stop!” she screamed, a mistake she would surely have to deal with the consequences of later.
She gripped the sides of her head, trying to silence the memories, his voice. It wasn’t working.
With the fire still burning behind her, Iryana reached her hands into the poppies before her, ripping them out of the earth. Throwing handful after handful behind her, Iryana continued until her hands were raw and cramping.
