I could hardly close my eyes for most of the night.
When the clock struck two-thirty in the morning, I finally dragged my once tired body out of bed and walked to the wardrobe near my lovely little wooden window. Atop it, sat two white suitcases, all I could ever need to fit my worldly possessions. It wasn't hard filling them up, one hour and everything I own had been packed away, awaiting their new life in a new, far-away home.
A dusty old brown backpack was next. Most of my art supplies had been packed in the suitcases, my backpack needing only the essentials. A sketchbook, with pencils and erasers attached and a little watercolour kit I constructed myself out of an old rouge tin of my mother's; a book, gifted by my father; a waterbottle, gifted by my mother; a grey old rabbit Sybil insisted I take with me; my travel documents and some leftover space for a snack, to be prepared in the morning. I included a change of underwear, a light dress and a green scarf, as the weather could change drastically. As for shoes, travelling around only required three pairs, one for everyday, one for performing and one for special occasions, which hardly ever got any use.
The everyday pair of brown boots resting near my bed ready to be tied to my feet, I contemplated my existence for a bit, saying a quiet goodbye to the small room and dove carvings on the windowsill which greeted me every morning for as long as I can remember. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of an unknown room, fancied up with beautiful expensive things that did not belong to me, and a window with a view which didn't know me and which I did not know, it confused and excited me at the same time.
By the time I was done, it was around three-thirty in the morning. Back in bed, I let my brain wander on to the possibilities of this new life which awaited me, the same previously felt fear and excitement keeping me going until four forty-five, when I was finally able to go to sleep, only to be awakened three and a half hours later, by my mother, the first to enter the room.
She greeted me with breakfast in bed and the knowledge that hot water was already prepared for my bath, and I thanked her, smiling as she lingered at the door, eyes threatening tears I never saw while measuring up every centimeter of my body for posterity, wanting to say so much but saying nothing. "I will be careful, mother. I will be safe, and will accomplish so many things. And I'll write once a week, so you won't worry. It won't last forever. Who knows, maybe I'll get tired of such a life and come back in two weeks, or maybe I'll be as lucky as the last artist and marry some rich nobleman and bring home many wealthy children and better prospects for little Syb." I joke.
She finally approaches, sitting down on the bed next to me, her hand stretching out to caress my face. "You are intelligent and kind, and so incredibly talented, my dear daughter. But the world is harsh and dangerous, and although I cannot keep you here beneath my bosom for the rest of your life, I can't help but be afraid of what might happen to you amidst these people and their customs. Acradya is a strange, foreign place, full of people from all over and I have no doubt you'll build many beautiful memories but you must be careful, for the sake of your poor parents, be careful."
"I will be careful, mother. I will. And I'll send money home."
"Don't think about it, live your life for yourself. Your father and I can manage, and your brothers will soon be back on the road, so our income won't be much affected." She states, placing a curl of hair behind my ear.
"I'll still send some, to add to our savings and for your shop. And this job is surely not forever, I will be back, we'll see each other once more, so soon you won't even have time to miss me. Once I'm truly settled, we can even arrange for a visit. It's been so long since you and father have taken a break and seen around the other sectors!" I smile. "Wouldn't that be great?"
"Of course, dear. But we haven't had a vacation in so long because we simply don't want to, the state of things as they are… It doesn't appeal to us. Maybe when that boy is on the throne, things will change, but I doubt it. You make sure to tell me if they're treating you right, okay? In those letters of yours?" She pleads.
"Of course, mother."
We share a hug, and I begin getting ready for what is bound to be a hectic day. After taking my breakfast, accompanied by some nice black tea, I wash myself, making sure to use the creams and oils I had before shoving them in the suitcase, and adding the care package mother prepared for me to my luggage, it now being three suitcases. I hope they won't be offended that I am taking so much space.
I put on my dress and shoes, and make my way down to the living room, where the whole family seemed to be waiting, it being now around nine forty-five. Greg and Hyde are still in their pajamas, but Sybil dressed up in her finest to greet the incoming royal entourage. "Mother made this for you, she went upstairs to put on a different hat." Sybbie laughs, handing me a wooden box wrapped in cloth, with cutlery and everything.
"I see she's not the only one who wanted to make a good impression." I point out, looking at her finest forest green dress, a favoured colour in Dravia, given our beautiful and vast forests.
"Oh, I've already made a good impression, I'm simply maintaining it." She explains, winking at me.
"You both look galant." I state, staring at my brothers with an eyebrow raised.
"We wanted to sleep, and yet here we are. For you, dear sister." Greg states, rubbing his eyes to wake up. "But we don't really matter much, you on the other hand, I'm sure you'll be able to snatch a rich duke in this dress."
"I have no intention of snatching anyone, thank you. And it was the most proper travelling outfit I owned." I roll my eyes. "I'll get some fabric on the road and start on something more appropriate for the new job."
"Regardless, whoever you find in Acradya will be pleased with your efforts." Hyde nods, content with his own observations. "But seriously, write to us. We'll be on the road but we look forward to hearing from you as well, you know the post offices we use to receive care packages from home and we'll send you the updated schedule as soon as we find our third. We're staying over for a bit longer, one or two weeks tops, to search for a singer, but if we can't we'll be back on the road."
"I'm sorry for leaving you guys hanging." I repeat, the thousandth time I must've said that phrase in the last 12 hours.
"Don't you dare say something like that. Besides, we'll most definitely use your name for traction now that you work for the literal royal family, so be sure to marry well so we can get even more money soon!" Greg says, laughing and giving me a lung-squeezing hug.
"I'll see what I can do to honour our family's reputation." I joke, eyebrows squeezed together in the most serious tone I can muster.
Our goodbyes are quick and witty, much like every other family interaction we have. There are no tears, only the ones threatening to spill out of my mother's eyes, but like the strong foundation she is, she keeps her cool, locking her tears in until I'm at least one or two Sectors away, for sure.
The next couple minutes drag on like hours, the whole family, even the boys in their pajamas, helping me drag outside my luggage as we anxiously await for the clock to strike 10am. It feels surreal, how something like that can be happening to someone
like me, someone from Dravia. Sure, there are much poorer Sectors where something of the sort would be impossible, but there are also much richer and more prosperous places to lift an artist from, even if our University is known for art teachings, one would assume an extensive and thorough process would be put in place to pick someone who'd be worthy of sketching the Royal Family.
It makes no sense that this illustrious person should be me.
The royal carriage pulls up in front of our humble cottage at exactly 10:15 in the morning, just as promised. It stands there, empty, two guards, which previously sat in the back, opening the main door to retrieve a large, engraved wooden box which seems heavier than they expected. The box is placed on the lawn, in front of my parents, who glance curiously at each other. "A gift from the royal family, ma'am." The taller guard, a skinny boy with deep forest green eyes sporting a thick Fortya accent, his lips moving slowly under his salt and pepper beard, which seemed to hide a much younger face underneath it, although his eyes showed a fully lived life. "The princes picked out the gifts themselves, with the help of Her Royal Highness, the Queen, of course," he begins a rehearsed speech. "but they requested me to personally deliver this letter for their dear friend, Miss Sybbie Olivette." His eyes fall on my youngest sibling, a smile threatening the corners of his mouth.
Sybbie cannot help but let out a happy squeal as she accepts the letter from the guard, eyes shining up at me with excitement before she attempts to squeeze the life out of the kind man with a hug. "Please send my kindest regards to the princes, I am truly honoured." Her words formal, she smiles while he attempts to regain his seriousness, offering to take my luggage, which I accept.
I look down at Sybbie, hugging her one last time. "It's your job to be happy and nothing more, remember?" I tell her, and she nods, although I'm sure her head is full with all the newly found responsibilities she will now place upon herself, ready to make our parents proud.
"And it's your job to write to me weekly. And paint the prettiest things that family has ever seen!" She states, giggling. "Have fun, sister. I'll miss you more than words can say."
Tears finally threaten my eyes, and my father steps forward to pick up the last luggage, fighting the initiative of the taller guard, the shorter one having joined the driver for a quick chat once he realised I was carrying light. He walks me to the carriage and places my luggage with the others, before giving me his hand to help me board. His eyes lock on mine for a minute, the eyes of a man who's seen so much and helped so many, eyes which have awakened me when I had night terrors and held me through the night while I wept, and hands which first placed a violin in mine, hands which guided my own while I struggled to hit the right notes, hands which posed for my first sketches, and the ones of so many other children. "We are immensely proud of you, my girl." He then reaches into his pocket, and hands me a pocket watch and a letter once I am settled in the carriage. "Open it when you need to hear us."
My hands linger on his for far too long, and I breathe deeply so my tears won't shame me in front of my sister. "I love you, father." I say back, just as he lets go of me to shut the carriage door.
I hear the driver click his tongue at the horses, the guards already settled in the back, and we start to move, but my eyes continue on my family for as long as I can, head hanging out of the carriage so I can hold their gaze up until we take a left turn to start our journey to the main square, the knot on my throat finally letting itself fall apart, tears running freely through me.