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"Kiss the Rain" (Greenhill) 8:30 am 9:55 am 11:23 am She knew that she shouldn't. The several days' inspection of the Academy was far from finished; the day far from over. There were still too many documents left unread, papers that needed her signature, her seal. Meetings had to be arranged; reports had to be filed away. "Play wif me, please? Play!" It was raining; a slight drizzle, not hard enough to prelude the thunderstorms that came at odd hours of the year. It was cool; the wind blowing air and moisture on her face, under the wide umbrella she carried. She shouldn't. But she will. She was never one to conform to her own rules. "Play! Daddy, play! Please?" "Not now, Teresa. Daddy's busy with work." It was only a few minutes walk from the Greenhill Academy; but it was long enough to give pause to reflection, contemplation. What had given rise to these melancholy thoughts, the profound regret within her, after all these years gone by? Was it because of the current hostilities that threatened the Jowston peace, the catalyst responsible for renewing the long-repressed memories and emotions inside her, so carefully tucked away within her being? "Does Daddy still love me? He never plays with me anymore! All he does is work! I hate his work!" "Daddy wants to play with you honey, but he has to protect us first too. He wants to keep you safe, and that's why he's always working." "From the bad guys? Is Daddy protecting us from the bad guys?" "That he is, love. That he is." Regret? What did she truly regret, after all? She had done the best she could; she knew right from the start that her life would be nothing ordinary; hadn't she grown up being taught that lesson? Maybe it isn't regret she was feeling. Maybe, just maybe, she was afraid. The rain continued to pour, with no sign of letting up for a time. The grass was wet, parting for her as she walked on. To where? She always knew where the path would lead her. "Is Daddy a hero then? Does his work make him beat up monsters and rescue ladies from dragons, like in the fairy tales?" "He's not a hero that way, Teresa. Your daddy makes rules and makes sure people follows them, so no one would need to fight each other anymore." "Not like in the fairy tales?" "Not like in the fairy tales." Yes, she was afraid. She was many things, all at the same time. She was the mayor. But she was also afraid; but she was also lonely. Weren't they poor traits to be found in a leader? She had seen a family of picknickers just the day before. Siblings and friends romping around, parents watching their children with familial pride. They had looked so happy together. They were lucky. She had never even gone on a picnic before. The grass made soft crunching noises under her as she continued to walk, making her way into an open field. But she remembered a time when strong hands would lift her up onto broad shoulders, a deep male baritone intertwining with a woman's rich laughter. She remembered being held closely by the warmth of a chest, even as her small body slowly dropped off to sleep. Brief snatches of her life, blurred memories snuffed out as soon as her life truly began. Her feet slowed, stopped. "Daddy's not a real hero, then?" "Not the hero you think, I'm afraid, hon." "But you know what, mommy?" "Yes, Teresa?" "Daddy's *my* hero." "Hello, Daddy." Teresa said softly. "Hello, Mommy." She had never really known any of them; her mother had died when she was too young to remember much of her, and her father had taught her how to be a leader, but never how to be a daughter. It was a laugh all by itself. She once thought that there wasn't a sentimental bone in his body; though there were times when she could have sworn otherwise. She had watched classmates and acquaintances, sometimes wished that her life were a lot like theirs. She had cried when Terra Wisemail had died, when Alec Wisemail had died, because she knew that she would never really know them at all. Perhaps there were some things she regret. She didn't know how long she stood there, just thinking, looking. It looked the same as before; the flowers she had carefully placed on the cold marble bright against the dark stone; a mixture of red and white and violet against dull gray. A wave of longing assaulted her suddenly, and with that came a startling realization. She missed them. She was too young to remember being loved; too old to be cuddled. She had all too soon missed a mother's affections; a father's attention. But for what it was worth, she missed them all the same. They were her parents. She loved them both dearly. Perhaps that was all that matters. Now, standing before them, she could almost hear her father's last words before he died: "Live and be happy, Teresa." Several minutes, later, Teresa slowly made her way back to the Academy, the rain abated. Behind her, Alec and Terra Wisemail's graves lay, headstones wet from rain and tears.
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