Episode 31 - Reflections

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Welcome back. (Pause) That doesn’t seem to cut it, actually. It’s been far too long for something that simple. I’ve been away for far too long, and I admitted as much in the trailer. Sure, taking time away can be part of the creative process. I mean, look at George RR Martin. Or on second thought, maybe don’t. And if you don’t know what I mean by that, don’t look it up because I don’t want to put that energy into the universe. I promise I’m doing the best I can, and you don’t have to tell me it’s not good enough. I know it isn’t. I’ve known for quite a while.

But I didn’t mean to dump out my emotions right then. That’s bad form, I know, even if this is my own podcast. Transparency is nice, but anything that elicits too much emotion is a step too far. Or that’s the rule I quickly came up with. Who knows whether or not it actually works or should work. It probably doesn’t because we are human beings inclined or outright required to connect to each other. For our own sake. Not to everyone or everything, mind you, but how many people do you know who have emotionally bonded in some way to their robotic vacuums? Or was that a phase we all went through. Or one I got stuck in because even though Hebe doesn’t work as well as he used to and there is still lingering cat litter on my floor, I would never give up on him. Which is to say, maybe the act of saying something is what elicits emotions, but I don’t know for sure. 

Yes I’m human, but I’m not an expert on being human. In fact, it’s something I struggle with, though I do the best I can. And I think that struggle shows in the things I write. Or that’s what I’m starting to think anyway.

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The small body, cold and lifeless, that had once been a child was never given a name. Though it was not a formal custom, it was not uncommon at the time in the Kingdom of Truford. It was simply an inevitability by many standards. So many infants of that era died or were born dead all the time, and to not treat these events so coldly–coldly enough to force a wound close–would leave cracks so deep that the very world would fall apart. Now things were getting better in some ways. Midwives, doctors, and almost every person it seemed were learning tricks to keep even the smallest of babies safe and well through difficult illnesses and storms, and yet, there were some children still lost and worse yet there were some whose deaths were seen as a convenience. And this one, this child born to a princess, was one of them. 

She had only been acknowledged reluctantly and veiled in a lie thicker than even the tapestries that depicted the stories of the kingdom’s legends. Those sorts of lies can be difficult to maintain, but none of that was necessary now if the child was dead. Or that was the part of it the king and queen focused. And though they did not say as much to their daughter the Princess Eathebel, she still heard their silent whispers of relief all the same. 

How she heard them over the sound of her own wailing would only be asked by the cold hearted. The rest of us would know that grief changes people, after all. Sometimes it is not a complete transformation but only serves to make someone more of what it is they have always been, stoking the feelings that have always been there and growing the monsters that peek out from just beneath our surface. 

The mother weeping over her forever nameless child did not need to be taught to hate those who hardened their hearts to her. It will always come naturally to her. Her eyes will sharpen to see the past, the seemingly improbable events that lead to all her miseries, and who it was who authored such a fate, justifiable or not.

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Fixing the story you’re listening to or at least making it presentable has not been easy, but it also hasn’t been the only reason I’ve been away. This is where things get embarrassing, but I made a TikTok account during the pandemic, like I’m sure many people did. And okay, look, it was a way to pass the time we were supposed to spend indoors, and for all the legitimate grievances people have against that app or that company behind it, you can’t say that scrolling through videos on that app is going to get you exposed to a respiratory virus. Maybe going out to act on or chase those trends will, but that’s not what I was doing. I wasn’t posting or anything. No, I was falling deeper and deeper into that algorithm’s clutches. 

The whole thing with that app seems fascinating, especially for someone who grew up with the older but more depersonal and yet somehow personal version of the internet where random and hard to find websites served as gathering points for small groups with niche interests. With the invention of TikTok, it almost seems like we came full circle but in the worst sort of way. Because what does the algorithm do but show you content that touches on these niche interests? Besides keep you there which creates that very same sort of community but communities that you can pass between with a simple flick of your finger. 

But I do think there’s more to it than that. Because you aren’t necessarily consciously deciding where to go. Yes on one hand, you can choose which creators or hashtags to follow, sure, but your FYP page is up to an algorithm, which you can try to influence by following certain things, but it does get final say, and it may very well see parts of you that you either didn’t know about or were desperate to hide. 

At least, I think it does.

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After the death of her niece, the Duchess Evanora locked herself away with her daughter in her chambers behind orders that they were not to be distrubed. She gave no reason for the action, and many thought there was no need to say one. Let a new mother do what she will, particularly in light of such tragic circumstances. In fact, some saw this withdrawal as an act of respect. Why trouble her sister-in-law with a reminder of the very thing she had lost? But the truth of it was the small child’s ungovernable nature. As if she knew how closely she had come to death, the baby wailed in distress unendingly and could not be consoled. And though the Duchess was far more patient than most, she grew worried and sent for the queen in the name of comfort. 

“Babies cry,” was all the queen was inclined to say in the Duchess’s sitting room. It was overwhelmingly bare and untouched by the living what with only the Duchess moving about the space with a crying baby in her arms. “Her father was a difficult baby.”

“This is not difficult,” the Duchess replied exasperated and with her voice about to crack. “This is panic. It’s as if she understands more than she can handle knowing.”

Queen Asha considered what she heard for a second. “You think she is like us then?”

“I cannot think it otherwise.”

Queen Asha studied the child carefully for her seat across her daughter-in-law, but it would do her little good. Neither of her children had been touched by magic, so how could she recognize the marks that such might leave? It was not something she had been taught to look for. And yet, a grandmother’s love remained within her, and she felt inclined to try. That inclination went beyond a mere search. The queen began to reach forward to her granddaughter’s loose curls, but when the child’s cries continued in spite of the small act of consolation, she pulled her hand back. “No one knows how magic is passed on,” the Queen decided to say. “Some say they do, but no one can prove it. She may very well be magic, and what should that matter? She’ll settle eventually. All children do, And there is nothing wrong with a gifted queen.”

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The child continued to cry, her shrieks grating on the queen’s nerves. And so, without another word, the queen turned to leave. “If she doesn’t have a brother, of course.”

The queen took two steps towards the door, getting far enough away from the Duchess that she could not be certain of what she had heard. But if the queen were right, the Duchess whispered, “She won’t.”

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It didn’t help that I didn’t have a beta reader for this story. Are they still called beta readers? That’s what they used to be called, so I’m sorry if I showed my age right then. Honestly, whatever they’re called, they serve a pretty important function, to be honest. After all, there are things we just need help with. We can’t get them done otherwise. When it comes to things about ourselves and improving or even just understanding ourselves, this is especially true.

Think about it. If it were not for mirrors, we would not know what we looked like. We could guess, based on the features of those close to us in a bloodline. But not everyone is surrounded by those who share a bloodline with them. And even if they are, genes love their tricks and jokes. And I could go on and on about that, but the short of it is that we need to use tools to show us what we look like, and it goes beyond just physical features. Anything we learn about ourselves we cannot learn by ourselves. And there’s something to be said about that, but I honestly wonder who out there is ready to hear it. Because I don’t think I am, and I don’t particularly enjoy being a hypocrite. 

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Princess Eathebel was left to console herself on days and nights that should have been spent in official mourning, but her child had been deprived of that. For that, she took no visitors, unwilling to play the game her parents had set out for her. But she was never truly alone. The eyes in the shadow were present with her as he always was. Wane, as he had called himself for he himself was the sort of child never cared enough for to be named, would never allow himself to stray too far from the side of the woman that he loved. But, and he would be the first to admit this, he hardly knew what love was. And while he understood loss, he had never felt it on this scale. For he loved his child as much as he could love a child, but he knew it was not a match to the love the princess had for their child. All he could do was sit there or lie beside here with her in her misery, but it was hardly enough. And yet, he would pull her close all the same, taking in the smell of apples in her hair.

“I don’t know if I ever wanted a child,” the Princess said one day. Her declaration cut through the silence of the night, a sharp blade piercing through her only companion. Wane did not know how to respond because he had heard her say the opposite before, quite frequently, when the child was anywhere but the grave.

“They’re… They aren’t terrible to have,” the princess explained, “but once a woman has them, that’s all she is: their keeper.”

“I’m your keeper, and I don’t think it’s all that bad to be,” Wane offered. 

“But that’s not the point,” the princess snapped. But she never explained what the point was. And in some ways, she did not have to. The point was all that she was: a child snubbed in favor of the brother, their only difference being their sex. They were both capable, both strong and intelligent, but her strengths went unnoticed and his mediocrity celebrated. It was infuriating. She spent many a night in her chamber pacing the floor, trying to shake off this anger, but it never came off. And now, further sewed into her body by the recent tragedy, there was seemingly no reason to lose it. 

If anything, these hurts and grievances were a new banner for her, and she would march forward underneath it as her own army. Or that was what she had decided to do. 

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Have you seen any of those TikToks where a creator effectively takes advantage of the truth we don’t acknowledge? The truth about the algorithm, if I’m not being clear. Because there are implications to the way it operates. And I might need to spell it out. Presumably, it knows you better than you do yourself, right? It’s picking up on the subtle cues hidden in your actions or interactions with content, and in an attempt to keep you there where advertisements can make its corporate daddy money, it has to keep showing you things that will keep you around. Things you want to see that you don’t think to ask for. But it knows you should ask for them because of all that data. And so there are some TikTok creators who know this, who know what pulls people in and can send out a call into the void that if you see them, this trait that they have is something that you have. 

And I keep getting those. So I hope you know what I’m talking about. Because I don’t want to be the only one seeing that. Because honestly, I’m afraid of what that algorithm is trying to say to me. I doubt it’s something I don’t already know, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it to be pieced together so easily. Because stories are complicated, you know? Even when the book is closed, in theory, there’s still a chapter out there that could be written, the story could go on, even if it’s not worth paying for or what a commercial audience would want. There’s always something else. Even when there isn’t. 

I should know. I should know.

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All spells come with a price, Queen Asha knew. It was what her nanny had taught her as a child when she first took that step into this world. There are prices to spells, be ready to pay them. But could a cost be so high, she wondered at her altar tucked away deep beneath the palace ballroom. The darkness around her, thicker than any other she encountered, could not give her an answer. But it seemed to be so. And yet, it would not be right for that to be the price. How many children might her son have had with the Duchess? How many lives were cast aside to protect a female child? It was not a fair exchange, by any means, the queen thought, but she doubted the Duchess was bluffing. She just did not think it was so. She could not believe her daughter-in-law was capable of such a thing, of destabilizing the realm. And for what purpose? For a child that would still be well cared for if it was a son who took the throne? 

The queen needed enlightenment, but if it were not to come, then she needed to change her plan. And that meant a husband for her daughter after all.

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Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.