Page 82 of Princess Broken

But I do know the true story. It’s as clear to me now, as if it happened last night. Somehow, Ana—and the wave of her own bad memories—lifted my true memories back to the surface.

Her fingers continue to gently stroke my throat and my chest. Sexually, this small woman excites me beyond belief, but right now, her gentle caress isn’t sexual, it’s comforting and makes me know that she understands what I need. Who I am. Maybe more than I understand it myself. I need to tell her this story. I need to let it flame its way out from inside me. And I need to tell it to her.

“Everyone else was asleep,” I begin softly, every detail vivid in my mind. “Pappa forgot to blow out the candle. He left it burning on the floor beside the bed. Something woke me and I saw its flickering light, so I climbed off my mattress. I planned to blow it out, but it was so beautiful.”

I sigh as the memory overtakes me. Even with the horrors that followed, I can still remember how happy I felt watching that little flame wave in the air.

“I loved looking at the colors. How the flame was bright blue at the bottom, how a darker color rose above that, almost brown, and then how it burst into bright yellow, blending up into oranges that flickered around the brightest part, dancing as if it was alive.”

“I love the way you describe candlelight,” she says softly.

I bend to kiss the top of her head and she slides her body against mine.

“I would give anything to go back to that night,” I tell her. “I’d give anything to change what happened.” What I did.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

“Our oil lamp was sitting on the table. I wasn’t allowed to touch the lamp. I knew better.”

“How old were you?”

“Five, I think. But I felt sure I was big enough to light the lamp. I’d seen Mamma and Pappa light it hundreds of times.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I’ve blocked these memories for centuries. They were blocked by countless drills with the Master, drills when he’d burn me for making mistakes. Punishments designed to implant new memories for the cause of my burns.

But the true memories flick up inside me.

“The table was too high,” I tell her. “So I moved the lamp to the floor. That way, I could use the candle’s flame to light it.”

Her fingers stroke my skin.

“But when I got it down to the floor, I realized the lamp was nearly empty. So I got the tin of oil from the far corner of the room, where Mamma kept it next to the door.

“It was heavy. I couldn’t lift it. So I took the linen sheet from my bed, tucked the fabric under the corner of the can, and then dragged it over to the candle.

“Pappa always used a funnel to transfer oil into the base of the lamp, so I fetched that too. I dragged a chair to the side of the cupboard where the tin funnel hung. I felt so grown up. So proud of myself once I’d retrieved it.”

“You were so little,” she says softly.

I nod. “I removed the lamp’s glass chimney—so carefully—and set it on the floor. And then I struggled to unscrew the top of the base that held the wick. Fingers stinging, I finally got it off and then slipped the funnel inside.” What comes next is too terrible to voice.

I’ll keep this part to myself. Hold it inside me like a lit coal forever.

“It’s okay, “ she says softly. “You can tell me what happened. You were a little boy. Whatever happened was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

At her words, my heart splits open, and the rest of my memories tumble out.

“I was too small to properly hold the can, and the funnel tipped. The oil spilled everywhere. Over my legs, over the floor.

“I tried to wipe it up, using my sheet and some of Mamma’s cloths from the kitchen, but all that did was create piles of oil-soaked linen all over the floor… And then the candle fell. Everything caught on fire. Including me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the images, the pain, they won’t go away. The pain of my burning legs, but even more so the pain of losing my family.

“My legs aflame, I ran from the house,” I confess to her. “Like a coward.“

Her hand squeezes my neck.

“Our neighbor, Herr Nilsson, he was a fisherman and heading out before dawn. He caught me and wrapped my legs in his coat to extinguish the flames. He tried to save my family too, but the entire cottage was an inferno by then. People came from all over the village, trying to help. But the fire was too great. I killed them. I burned my entire family to death.”

---