Leaving the Past

In retrospect, I should have seen it all coming. My mother is an elf of moderate social standing, and my father was a human caravaneer. Every time my father would come through the village, he would partake in wine to excess. My kind-hearted mother saw past this flaw, and fell in love with the poet he should have been if his family had afforded him proper schooling. I wasn't the first child born of a human parent in our village, but I was the first with one of such ill-repute, for whom our people had such outspoken distaste. I should have said something when it began, but I felt as though nobody would believe me, or they would blame me for it. Back while I was attending school, the other children would say nasty things tome about my father, and sometimes throw things at me or hit me while our teacher wasn't looking. As class let out one day, our teacher asked me stay and discuss my performance. As he began explaining how much potential he thought I had and how he wanted to push me to succeed, I didn't ask why he was drawing the shades. It was only once he locked us both in that I realized what was happening. I felt that telling would only cause more problems for my mother, and kept what happened that day to myself. If it had just been the once, I probably would have stayed, but our teacher became emboldened and began devising embarrassing ways to keep me after the other students. It was when his acts grew cruel and torturous that I was able to bring myself to run away and leave our village. Months after leaving home, I happened upon a circus hiring acrobatic and contortion acts, for which I discovered I had a natural talent. It did not pay well, but we were provided for in food, lodging, and drink. I think being on the run physically played largely into my turning to wine to run away emotionally. My next several years run together, but what I recall continues to haunt my memory. When our talent curator grew lustful, he threatened to cut my act if I refused his advances. If it had not been for my experiences back home, I may have fallen into the same trap. Instead, I opted to be the one who sprung the trap this time; when he tried to corner me to have me where he wanted, I put my dagger through his heart. Afterward, I fled the circus and dove deeper into a sea of ale at an adorable crossroads inn. It was there where I fell in love. Her name was Ariel, a life-long ale server. She was gentle and kind, and even today the memory of her curves will stir me from meditation at times. One night, after we had been together for a few months or so, an inn patron grew handsy with her despite her insistence that he stop. What seemed like an ordinary interaction to her had infuriated me, and I couldn't stay my hand from slashing the man's throat. Ariel was scarred. She never looked at me the same, and the pain of this drove me to flee the inn as well. In the days that followed, I came upon a monastery where the residents took me in without question. They clothed me, sheltered me, and fed me. It was through following their practices of meditation and principles of balance that I learned to be at peace with my past.