We were only fourteen when we met. Both of us trying to strike out on our own, drifting from place to place. Whichever village, shack, or inn put a roof over our heads was where we called home. Before we met, we were both alone. Twelve years ago, on a day like any other, I found Alethea in a small grotto outside of the port town of Peonia. We were old enough to be wary of the other, but barely young enough to not exterminate the other on sight. Neither of us, however, wanted to be in each other’s company any longer than we had to. Still, the night was approaching quickly, necessitating a negotiation that allowed me to stay. In return, I would give her some of my collected food.

When we met, she was boiling a fish stew in an old copper pot coated in verdigris over a fire. It smelled repulsive and looked like the regurgitated meal of a seabird. She seemed that she would have given almost anything not to have to eat it. With as few words as possible, we exchanged a few pouches of dried meat and berries for a seat on the opposite side of the cave where I began my dinner. While we ate, we pretended to be engrossed in our food but occasionally snuck a mildly hostile, yet curious, glance at the other.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“What’s your name?”

I stared. She stared back. After a long moment, I answered.

“My name’s Anismira. Yours?”

“Alethea.” There was another moment of silence. “What are you doing out here? I’ve never met an elf in this area before.” Peonia was a human town surrounded by human territory, so it made sense that she wouldn’t have.

“I could say the same to you. Demons don’t usually wander far from Ametathetos.” Small black horns peeked out of her straight brown hair. A wiry black tail curled around her legs, and oddly enough, only a singular wing was folded against her back. Alethea crossed her arms and gazed haughtily at me.

“I can wander wherever I want.”

She was small, even for a demon. So was I, though. I was a head taller than her but still below average for an elf. I decided to ignore her tone and smirked.

“It’s the same for me.” She nodded and we both fell silent again. We kept talking in short bursts throughout the night. Both of us were too anxious to sleep before the other for fear they would steal or kill. Because of this, we sat wide awake on opposite sides of the cave talking the entire night.

I’ve long since forgotten the contents of our time-filling conversation, but I do remember how I felt. My initial revulsion at her appearance melted away as I found her remarkably similar to me. She later told me that she felt the same way.

We were both runaways, fed up with our previous lives, both young and confused. Both of us loved our families, but we would not have been able to feel alive had we stayed with them. Both of us were far away from home. Both of us were lonely.

Perhaps that was why I felt a strong connection with her by the time dawn broke on our sleep-deprived selves. Perhaps that was why I asked her if we could travel together, and perhaps that was why she said yes.

It is now exactly twelve years from the day I met Alethea. It is eight years since I returned to Proslitikos, the capital of the elven territory. It is four years after the end of the human civil war. I am dozens of miles away from the nearest human civilizations. The distance between me and Ametathetos, the nation inhabited by demons, is better measured in countries.

Time moves strangely for me. Days and years disappear while hours seem infinitely difficult to struggle through. I don’t want anything, I don’t look forward to anything. It is always the moment, then the next, and the next. There is no future. There is no past, there is now.

My reason for writing these journals is to remember. If I live in the moment, I can’t look back. To forget—that is my greatest fear. Some days, it is the only thought that keeps me alive. The thought of forgetting. Of living a happy, fulfilling life with a past that nobody knows about. That fills me with terror. Once I forget, it will be as if it had never happened. Illogical? Surely. But elves are not cold, analytical beings as many think. We are simply better at stamping out irrationality and emotion than most. I’ve long since been fed up with that.

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Maybe I wouldn’t miss it if I did forget. Maybe I wouldn’t miss what I never had. I’m still afraid. There’s a dread when I imagine no longer being able to remember when I was happy. When life was full of color and flavor.

Remembering, of course, means remembering every day. For twelve years, I forgot each day as soon as it was done, and only true memorable moments remain. Today is another day to record.

I woke up early as usual, and while my maids dressed me, I looked around my room. The splendor of my home meant nothing to me. Velvet curtains, a canopy bed, and mahogany doors brought me nothing but pain as reminders that I was back home.

I examined myself in the mirror. With my golden hair and pointed ears, I was the stereotypical elf. I turned away and left my room in my extra-impractical and expensive dress. Today was a special occasion after all. Not only special but happy, at least for many people who were not me. Thankfully, most of what I had to do was look pretty.

I walked through the halls of the castle; my home. Magic stones embedded in the walls gave off a faint light. Windows were few and far between. I stood at a small excuse for a window—it was barely a foot wide and three feet high. The sun was beginning to rise, and crowds were already beginning to gather to hear the king’s proclamation. Today, he would be announcing his successor.

The king had ruled for almost 50 years at this point, so his retirement was big news. He had been a good king, fair, strong, and decisive. A great majority of Fior, the nation of elves, would be sad to see him go.

I could hardly go outside in my voluminous dress, so I headed to the music room to pass some time before the announcement. The music room was a wide hall often used by royal orchestras, but today it was empty. I took a seat inside a small room that was adjoined to the main hall and unpacked my wooden flute.

The flute itself was a gift from Alethea for my seventeenth birthday. She had stayed up late for months working on it, carefully using magic to mold the silver keys and working the rosewood by hand. My parents and relatives always showered me with gifts, but none of them meant as much to me as the flute.

Like most elves, I had been educated in music from a young age and was fairly skilled. I raised the instrument and began to play. I worked out a simple tune: “Cedonia.” It was one of the first pieces I learned when I was five, and it was always the first I played when I picked up the flute. It was the same way nine years ago when Alethea gifted it to me.

Back then, I could hardly play the instrument because I couldn’t suppress my smile. She watched me intently while I tried to begin the song. But then she would smirk or giggle and I would burst out laughing. Finally, I composed myself and began to play. I channeled my happiness into the joyful melodies of the piece and when I was finished, I hugged Alethea tightly and thanked her abundantly.

Cedonia is a cheerful and optimistic piece, but today, it sounded more like it was full of regret and fear. My mouth quivered before I could hit the last note and my chest tightened. Tears flooded my vision and began to fall without me even knowing why I was crying. I ran my hand over the flute and wiped away the teardrops that had landed on it. I quickly packed it up to avoid damaging it.

I recalled how, after Alethea had given me the instrument, she gave me a thorough lecture on how to care for it. She pointed out a dozen parts I had to maintain and made me promise to polish and swab it every time I used it. I had pretended to complain, but I was still ecstatic inside.

That memory only made me cry harder.

A knock on the open door interrupted me. My younger sister, Reina, stood at the door, staring at me. I hadn’t noticed her, but she could have been standing there for a few minutes.

“Anismira. Mom and Dad said you need to get ready to go.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon.” Reina gazed at me for a moment before she turned to leave. I dried my face and followed her.

The time of the king’s proclamation gradually came closer. Right before it began, my mom laid her hand on my shoulder.

“Anise, you’ll be fine. I believe in you.” She smiled. I felt no better, but I had resigned myself already.

The king took the stage and spoke to the throng of people, amplifying his voice with magic. For a while, he simply thanked the citizens for supporting his reign and talked about the state of the country.

Then he moved on to the main issue.

“I’m sure many of you have gathered here today to hear who will be replacing me as ruler now that I am retiring.” He paused and looked into the crowd. Then he smiled. “My successor is none other than my eldest daughter, Anismira Mirabilis. The coronation will be held in two weeks.” The crowd roared with excitement as I walked across the stage and knelt at the king’s feet.

“Thank you, Father.”