At least that's what I thought.
I was alone in the middle of a vast plain. The sky was gray. The wind was so strong that I had trouble moving forward. In the distance, a silhouette was walking in my direction.
A woman.
I already knew who she was before I even saw her face.
Maev.
She was moving slowly. As if every step cost him an immense effort.
When she came in front of me, I noticed something.
She held a head in her hands.
A human head.
I couldn't see the face. Only the hair. Blood. The eyes are empty.
Then Maev looked up at me.
And his face changed.
His traits were distorted. His skin is darkening. His smile appeared.
A smile I've never seen before.
And yet I knew him.
Like I've always known him.
As if my ancestors had passed it on to me.
Maev was gone.
In his place was a man.
And in his eyes shone something worse than hatred.
Love.
A love gone mad.
A love that has become a disease.
There was a laugh.
Then he spoke four words.
- Your turn will come.
I woke up in a rush. The beating heart. The sheets soaked in sweat. The breath is cut off.
For several minutes I sat on my bed. Listening to the silence. Listening to the wind against the caravans. Trying to convince me it was just a nightmare.
But something had changed.
I didn't know what.
I only knew I couldn't stand the camp anymore. Eyes. Silence. Secrets. Discontinued conversations. Adults who seemed to know something I didn't understand.
Even my mother became unbearable. His protection. His concern. His need to always know where I was. All this was suffocating me.
So, a few days later, I ran.
Without warning anyone.
Without a word.
Without thinking.
I took a bag. A few clothes. The money I managed to save.
And I left.
I thought I was leaving for a few days.
I stayed away for a month.
Paris was huge. Terrified. Beautiful. You son of a bitch. Brilliant. It's cruel.
In the first few days, I felt free. No one was watching me. No one knew me. Nobody looked at me like Rose's daughter. I could walk where I wanted. Eat when I want. Sleep when I wanted.
Then the money started to run out.
And reality caught up with me.
I discovered the public benches. Building halls. Stations. The cold. Hunger. Solitude.
I learned to recognize places where it was best not to stay. The look that was better to avoid. The promises you never had to believe.
When you're fourteen, you learn quickly when you're alone.
Sometimes, at night, I thought about my mother. And despite my anger, I gradually understood some of his fears. The world was nothing kind. There's no need for a curse to make him dangerous.
One morning, after almost a month of wandering, I woke up on a bench. It was cold. The sun was just starting to rise. I was exhausted. Starved. And, for the first time since I left, I wanted to go home.
But pride is a formidable prison.
I wouldn't admit it.
Then I sat down. Looking at the passers-by. Watching the city wake up.
Then I heard a voice.
- Go home.
I suddenly raised my head.
No one.
Only strangers in a hurry. Cars. The usual noise of the city.
Then the voice returned.
- Go home.
This time, I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
I could never explain what happened. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe my imagination. Maybe just the need to believe that someone was still thinking about me.
But I clearly heard the rest.
- I won't let him hurt you.
I felt my tears rise immediately.
Because, for the first time in weeks, someone was still protecting me.
Even from afar.
I came home that day.
The journey seemed shorter than it was.
When I arrived at the camp, no one shouted. No one scolded me. No one asked me a question. As if everyone always knew I'd come back.
My mother was waiting for me in front of her caravan.
She shook me in her arms. Very strong.
Without a word and, for the first time in my life, I felt her trembling.
I never really told her this month on the street.
She never asked me to do it.
Some injuries do not need to be described to be understood.
The years passed.
Little by little, the anger calmed down.
I kept running.
But less often.
I was growing up.
I was going out more.
I was discovering the world beyond the camp.
And most of all, I was beginning to think that my life might look like other people's.
Then, when I was 16, I met Malik.
The first time I saw him, I thought he was annoying.
The second time, I thought he was funny.
The third time, I was surprised to wait for our conversations.
He was older than me. Algerian. Patient. Intelligent.
And most importantly, he never seemed impressed by my story.
When I told him about the camp, he listened to me. When I told him about my mother, he smiled. When I told him about Kamino, he wasn't laughing. He was just asking me:
- What do you think?
No one had ever asked me that question.
With him, I was no longer Rose's daughter. I was no longer the heir of an old story. I wasn't the one we were watching anymore.
I was just Aeriss.
And, for the first time in a very long time, life was beginning to become sweet.