Prologue: Child of Polpora

The Combat Baker and Automaton Waitress — LNCrawler · All chapters

When I was little, I heard adults call me a "Child of Polpora."

I didn't understand what they meant, so I asked my father.

"What are you talking about?!"

Before I could answer, he hit me.

It wasn't a slap with an open hand, but a blow with a fist. I wasn't even five years old, so it slammed me against the wall.

It really hurt.

But even more painful was how my body cringed in fear at my father's violence, anger, and hate.

Mom saw and pleaded with him in a panic.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's my fault! I'm sorry!"

Those were her words as she wept and apologized.

It didn't look the way a wife would behave toward her husband.

She looked like a criminal begging the executioner for mercy. It was a pitiful and miserable sight that suggested subservience.

And yet the father would not forgive the mother.

He hit and kicked her. He glared at us and shouted. "It's your fault!" and "You're both to blame!"

* * *

That night, Mom held me tight.

And as she held me, she apologized.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Over and over, without explaining, she apologized to me.

"...I'm sorry I gave birth to you."

Those words left a deep, permanent scar in my heart.

Child of Polpora... Now I know what those words mean.

They are ridiculous words that amount to no more than a superstition.

And they are words that will follow me all my life.

I am a child of Polpora, an ugly fairy child.