Past the Mountains, Among the Clouds

Freya Pomon Archion. The Goddess of Autumn.

She's lively, playful, amiable and from a superficial view, a sight for sore eyes. Yes. If you think that's all there's to Freya, then you are indeed viewing her from a superficial standpoint. I had been doing the same. Everyone had been doing the same. No matter how close you were to her, you'd have never seen Freya from anything but a superficial point of view. That, in turn, makes you wonder, had Freya had ever been actually close to someone, or as I'd soon realised by the end of this tale, was all of this just another face of Freya.

Freya said she became a god three years ago when she was in ninth grade. It all happened before the end term exams. However, I feel the seeds for her current predicament were sown well in advance—long before ninth grade, even before she started school. It all began when she took birth in her family. A broken family. 

Your surroundings mould you into the individual you are today. So, it wasn't just her family, but her surroundings as a whole that had made Freya who she was. A world all too broken to be fixed. 

"I don't remember my original name." She said.

"Something about being a god is makes your lose your name. In a way, it feels more like reincarnation than ascension to me. I forgot my name. I lost my identity as an individual who I was before. I feel Miss Bierra might feel the same about this whole 'becoming a god' thing. You die as human and are brought back into the world as something different." She said as her gaze shifted to Bierra, as if in search of approval. Biera remained stoic, her gaze affixed, offering neither agreement nor dissent. Freya's words seemed to bounce off her icy exterior, yet a flicker of something—doubt, perhaps—lingered in her eyes.

"However, one thing remains. It's the memories. They remain to haunt you of your decision. A decision you didn't take. As if they are mocking you for how you turned out to be."

The unnamed girl — Freya before she became Freya was born to her mother when she was just sixteen. Her mother's boyfriend at the time left as soon as he learnt about her pregnancy, leaving her alone to take care his daughter. Alone. Her parents, out of fear for their prestige, denounced both their daughter and hers from the family. And now alone, her mother stood with her daughter in her hand. Crying. They both cried. They were their only hope now.

Even after such a tragic beginning, her mother didn't give up. She was there for her daughter at all times. She was determined to give her daughter a better life. Through day and night she worked different jobs, making sure she had enough money to provide for her daughter's education. Luckily, she even fell in love with a rich man and they got married successfully. They had everything now. Everything was going right for once.

"Then when I was eight, mom received a call one day." Freya said. Her voice had a hitch.

"Dad..." She thought for a bit.

"To think I remember calling that man my dad, it's embarrassing." She sighed.

"My stepfather was not home. He had yet not returned from work." Freya continued.

"Mom! Mom! I remember calling to her as I ran around our apartment, looking for her to give her the phone. It wasn't a registered number."

She found her in the kitchen doing the dishes. She happily handed her mother the ringing cellphone. 

"I didn't wait long enough to hear what sort of conversation she had on the phone. In hindsight, I should've waited there but...." Freya trailed off.

"I do remember one word she said. Just one." 

"Dad?" Her mother gasped as she heard the voice on the other side of the cellphone.

"I remember her jumping with joy when she put down the call. She was so happy I can't find words to describe it. She called my name repeatedly throughout the house. This time she was finding me."

"She gave me a big hug when she had found me. I still remember her childlike expression when she said, 'Everything will become perfect now.'" Freya stopped. 

It didn't become perfect. In fact, Freya was soon to be snatched of everything she thought she had.

"My mom quickly packed up her things. She said she has a sort of surprise for me and my stepfather at the time. She said she'll be back soon. And with these words, she left the house."

"That was the last time when I saw her. She left me, just like that." Freya's expression contorted. A fake sort of smile came up on her face. To hide away her authentic emotions. Just like she always had been doing.

"I was confused. Why? Why did she leave me? Was it because of me? Did I do something wrong?"

"At first, just like me, my stepfather was confused about this whole situation. He tried everything in his power to find the whereabouts of my mother. The unknown number. The police. Everything! Even so, amidst all this, he was trying to make time for me. Just like Eirik, he knew I was scared. He knew it wasn't my fault."

"He tried everything, but to no avail. We couldn't find mom. It was as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth and then one day, when things couldn't possibly get any worse. We received a mail."

Freya never got to know the contents of the mail. All she knew was that it was from her mother and upon reading the mail, he was furious. His hands trembled as he held the letter, his face twisting into something she'd never seen before. When he looked at her, it wasn't confusion anymore—it was hatred. He tore the mail and envelope into a billion pieces.

"I remember myself asking, 'What happened dad? Is it from mom?'"

"You. It's all your fault." He said.

That's when the abuse began.

"He hit me that day. Punches. Slaps. Belt. Anything that wouldn't kill an eight-year-old. He hit me with them. I remember lying on the floor of our warm, cozy home. It felt cold now. He never talked to me ever once again."

"I just laid on the floor crying. Why? Why? It wasn't as if I was asking this to my mom or my stepfather. I was asking it to myself. Why did I ruin the thing? Why did I break my family? It must've been my fault."

The wording. It feels masochistic. How was this your fault? How come you easily accepted that, Freya?

"Every now and then, my stepfather would come home drunk and release his anger upon me. He'd give me bruises. My skin would be burnt from candle wax. He made sure I suffered the consequences of my action."

"Though I'm thankful that he didn't stop me from going to school. I'd go to school in full sleeves, covering my arms. I wore stockings to cover the bruises on my leg. As for my face, he never hit me on the face, so it was mostly unharmed. My weird uniform would inevitably lead to me being bullied in school. Makes you think I really deserved it, didn't I?"

"No Freya, that's not-" I opposed her. No. She didn't deserve any of it. She cut me off.

"Of course, I did. I made him lose his lover. The least I could do to atone for my mistake was take the beating. So I stopped crying when he would beat me. It was for my atonement. I didn't cry when my friends would bully me. The pins in my shoes. Pushing me down the stairs. I really deserved it!"

"I denounced my suffering as my mother had denounced me. I took on a new personality if that made them happy. I adopted a new face. I became indifferent to my abuse."

No. That's so wrong. Just how much had this girl suffered to break her sanity?

"But you know what Eirik? It wasn't enough. Having just two faces was not enough. Because sometimes my suffering got the better of me and I'd let it out and one time.... When it was the start of seventh grade. After bearing the abuse for four whole years, my teacher noticed one bruise on the back of my neck. That was when this face shenanigan accelerated to a whole new level."

"He'd ask my stepfather about it. That enraged him even further. One day, when he was beating me, he paused. As I smiled back at him through the pain. He grabbed my face. He held me by my cheeks, examining my face."

"That's right. I know how I can make my money back now." He said.

My heart sank. I prayed. Please don't let this go the way I think it's going. I prayed harder.

"Next day onwards. People began visiting our home. They'd come and my dad would lock me in a room with them. They'd touch around my chest. They'd rub around my neck. It felt.."

No. 

I guess my terrified expression might've startled Freya a bit. She stopped. Noticing her I tried to portray myself as calm as I could be. It was impossible.

"It felt wrong. But I had to make sure those people were happy. So I changed my personality to fit their liking. One. Two. Four. Soon I had developed a hundred faces to fit to the liking of each individual."

"Then when I was in eighth grade. It was a regular night. Someone was to come like always. There was a knock on the door. A visitor. Imagine my surprise when the visitor today was none other than my teacher from last class, who'd told my stepfather about my bullying. He handed him a fat lump of cash and then, with a disgusted expression, said, 'Anything, right?'"

"My stepfather just nodded without even looking at my face."

"I guess you can imagine what happened next, Eirik."

No. Don't ask me that. Please. I can't answer. I can't come to terms with the fact that this was what a fourteen-year-old girl had to go through. 

"He tried to have his way with me," Freya said in a disgusted yet nonchalant voice.

"What had been happening felt fine. But this? It was wrong. Well, I say tried because he wasn't successful. I smashed the light my the bed write into his head when he leapt on me. As he withered in pain, I ran out the house through the window." Freya stopped abruptly.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

"What happened..." I couldn't find the courage to question her.

"You can continue." Bierra said. Bierra's voice cut through the silence, cold and steady, but for a moment, something softened in her gaze—a crack in her icy demeanor that Freya, absorbed in her tale, did not notice.

"Just as you'd expect. I informed the cops. I was rescued. Both my stepfather and his attendees, along with that teacher, were arrested, and once again, I had destroyed my family." She said with a smile.

Another face added.

How can someone say something so messed up with a smile? How can she still call that man his family? How broken can a person be?

"Well, I mentioned I was rescued. But truth be told, things really didn't get any better for me." She continued.