#They're two blue sapphires btw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tehuti88-art · 7 months ago

Text

4/5/24: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." A twofer this week.

This week's characters from my anthro WWII storyline are Kolten Himmel and Anna Maria Himmel. Wait, didn't I already do Kolten Himmel...? Yes...technically, Kolten Himmel II. This here is his grandfather, and his grandmother; these are Capt. Otto Himmel's parents. They never appear in the main story as they're long deceased by then, though they played a big role shaping Himmel's actions and values. (Himmel's old description is way out of date, BTW.) Kolten senior is a merchant marine/sailor (thus the cap) whose ship is lost at sea when Otto is very young; his mother, who is poor but hardworking, very pious, and prone to mystical visions, dies when he's fourteen, so he decides to lie about his age and join the army. There'll be more about them later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding their designs: Kolten's cap design is based on what I could find of late 1800s/early 1900s images of German sailors, though I'm unsure if he's part of an official navy, or just a random sailor who ends up on whatever ship will take him (I lean toward the latter). I'm not certain about Anna Maria's hairstyle or hair color (she's supposed to look a bit more, uh, Edwardian, I guess?--but I had too much trouble drawing an upswept hairstyle), so that may change; there's a lot of sea-themed religious symbolism regarding how she and Kolten meet, so I decided to grant her one indulgence, sapphire earrings. (When Himmel leaves home he takes these, and Kolten's tally which he'd previously given to Anna Maria, to remember them by.)

TUMBLR EDIT: I wanted to draw these two as a pair. As I worked on them, the story of how they met poured into my head. I'll treat them as one entry but truncate Anna Maria's entry to avoid repetition; result, since I know a bit more about her than him, Kolten's entry here will be from her POV.

Anna Maria Traugott is poor but a hard worker, scraping by doing odd jobs--typing, filing papers, mending clothes, various sorts of housework, she toils for whoever will pay her, and does so without complaint. She comes from a Catholic family as hardworking and humble as she is, though by now she's on her own. She's also very religious, though her piety manifests in a somewhat unusual way: She has prophetic dreams and occasional visions, which sometimes almost seem to predict the future, though more often, they give her signs, divine signs, which she uses to guide her actions. She's especially devoted to Mary, her namesake, keeping a little shrine to her in her living quarters and often praying for advice. Hand in hand with her mystical visions comes an occasionally crushing melancholia; it's only her faith that keeps her going through it, though it gets difficult sometimes, and a dark cloud always looms over her. She has the brooding feeling that her life will be cut short at some point...she doesn't fear this, rather it just seems inevitable, fate, somehow. She just plows through her days with the steadfast belief that God will provide until He no longer will. It's not her place to question.

Anna Maria is busy mending clothes one day when the owner of the shop directs a customer to her. A tall man in a sailor's outfit enters, removing his cap respectfully; he offers her a shirt with a torn sleeve. Anna Maria says she can fix it, if he'll wait just a bit. She looks up at him as she takes the shirt. He has pale blue eyes, like the daytime sky; she blinks, and he does too. He offers a very small smile, thanks her, and takes a seat. She quickly stitches the shirt, good as new; he pays the shopkeeper, who sets aside Anna Maria's cut. The sailor thanks her again, bobbing his head; he seems to linger just a beat longer than usual before departing. Anna Maria has a funny feeling. He wasn't at all like most of the sailors who pass through. For some reason, her thoughts keep wandering back to him throughout the day. On a whim, when her work is done, she heads to the river where the nearest port is and the docks are always busy. She glances at the ships, having no idea really what she's doing, but then, she sees it: A ship's bow, emblazoned with the name DAS LICHT DES MEERES. The Light Of The Sea. She doesn't know how she knows. But she knows that's the ship.

The sailor with the sky-blue eyes is nowhere to be seen. Anna Maria wanders the dock for a few moments. She starts feeling a little foolish--why is she even here, what is she doing?--and turns around to head back toward land. And gasps when she nearly runs right into him. The sailor exclaims, "I knew it!"

Anna Maria: *recovering herself* "Knew...knew what?"

Sailor: "I knew I would find you here!" *shakes head* "I know I sound mad but...I had a feeling. That you'd be here looking for me. You are looking for me, ja...?" *starting to look embarrassed* "Bitte, tell me I'm not mad."

Anna Maria: *shakes head* "Nein...you're not mad."

Sailor: *encouraged* "I just...had this feeling. It's so odd. I don't know how to explain it, but I knew."

Anna Maria: "You don't have to explain...I understand it. I had a feeling, too."

Sailor: *beams for a moment* "I...I didn't get your name. I meant to ask..."

Anna Maria: "Anna...Anna Maria. Traugott."

Sailor: "Kolten. Kolten Himmel."

Anna Maria: *blinks* "Himmel...?"

Kolten: *smiles* "Ja." *pause* "I wondered...could I see you again? Tomorrow maybe?"

Anna Maria: *blushes* "Ah...all right. There's...there's a little outdoor cafe, not far from the shop, we could meet there...?"

Kolten: "Cafe." *bobs head* "Tomorrow, then...? At noon?"

Anna Maria: "Noon." *nods & blushes* "Ja."

Kolten: "I'll see you then." *steps back* "It was good to speak with you, Fräulein Traugott."

Anna Maria: "Good...good to speak with you, Herr Himmel."

The sailor--Kolten--smiles, turns, heads back for the ship. Anna Maria heads home. After doing her own chores and eating her little supper she kneels by the tiny shrine and lights a candle. Clasps her crucifix and stares at the small figure of Mary imploringly. "Is it a sign...?" she murmurs. "His eyes...the ship...Himmel?" To run across a sailor named Heaven, with eyes as blue as the heavens, sailing on The Light Of The Sea, when she's named after, and every evening prays to, the Star of the Sea...I mean, how can it not be a sign? A sign of WHAT, she's not sure--she gingerly asks, "Does it mean...he and I...the two of us...?" before trailing off. She's seriously never given a thought to such things; she's just assumed she was meant for a solitary life of hard work and contemplation. And she tells herself not to jump ahead of herself. But her heart's been beating a little bit faster since she first looked up into Kolten's sky blue eyes and saw his small smile...it looks like a sign. She blows out the candle, goes to bed, sleeps only fitfully. She keeps dreaming of the sky and of the sea.

The next day she heads for the cafe. As she draws near, though, her step falters. Will he even be there? She's heard of sailors and their ways, what does she even have to offer him? Yet...he'd said he had a feeling. Just like she did. Like it was meant to happen. It's not her place to question. She looks over her shoulder, briefly contemplates turning away and forgetting this impulse, then makes up her mind and turns back. And ahead of her, coming from the opposite direction, there he is. He sees her at the same instant she sees him, and a smile spreads across his face. She feels herself smiling in return, and goes to meet him.

They stop before each other and both say, "I thought--" then cut themselves off. Both gesture for the other to speak first; he does so, saying, "I thought you might not come." She admits she thought the same. "I'm not used to visiting cafes," Kolten says as if mildly embarrassed, casting it a glance; realizing that sailors are far more likely to visit taverns, Anna Maria blushes and says, "Neither...neither am I, to be honest." Though she has a reason different from his; to take lunch at a cafe is a luxury she can't really afford. Kolten looks at her, seems to understand; he glances aside, toward a nearby park. "The weather is good today," he suggests, "why don't we go for a walk?" Anna Maria accepts, feeling a twinge of relief. Although it's a sin to be proud, and she's not really ashamed of being poor, she does feel bad that she can't treat him to something nice, and she doesn't want to have him pay; his small suggestion helps put her at ease.

They head into the park, getting to know each other a little better as they slowly walk along the path. She asks him how long he's been a sailor. About as long as he's been able to climb aboard a boat, Kolten tells her; he lost his parents and took to the water when he was quite young. He practically grew up on the ships, raised by the crews during the day, rocked to sleep by the waves at night, so "I have land legs more for the sea than for the actual land, as funny as it sounds," he says. Anna Maria says she lost her parents when she was rather young as well. "Seems we have some things in common," Kolten says, and it's true, in a way they're in the same boat...metaphorically speaking. Although they've known each other only a day, she feels comfortable with him, and he's so kind and warm, a ray of sunlight in her relatively dreary life; as their walk nears its end she asks him when his ship is heading out again. Kolten's smile fades. "Tomorrow morning," he replies; Anna Maria's disappointment turns into a sharp pang of despair when she asks how long he'll be away, and he replies, about four months.

The dark cloud moves in again. Still, it had seemed like a sign; Anna Maria feels that they aren't meant to part yet, not so soon. She summons the courage to ask, "Will...will I see you again?" Kolten replies, "If you come looking for me." Emboldened, Anna Maria promises she'll come to the port to wait for him, and in return, he promises he'll be there, looking for her. The dark cloud dissipates a little. "Oh," Kolten says, as if just thinking of something; he takes off his cap, and unties the tally, removing it; he holds it out to her, saying, "Here." Anna Maria shakes her head, "Oh--no, I can't," she protests, but he says he can simply get another one, so she tentatively takes the ribbon. "Keep hold of it," Kolten says, then, "For luck, until I come back." "For luck," Anna Maria echoes, and they share a small smile. They part ways at the park's entrance, she heading home, he to the docks. She visits the port the next morning to watch Das Licht Des Meeres depart; she catches sight of Kolten untangling ropes on the deck, and he spots her as well. He smiles, lifts his cap, bobs his head; he's already replaced the tally, and the long ends of it whip around in the breeze. Anna Maria smiles back, shows him the old tally clasped in her hand, and waves. He disappears from sight, likely called to some ship duty or other; she watches for a while as the gangway is removed and the ship slowly pulls away from the docks, then heads off to work for the day. That evening, she lights her candle, clasps the tally to her breast, recites prayers for the ship's safe journey. She follows this little ritual for the next four months, without fail. She's certain her meeting with Kolten was predetermined, that it means something. She knows they'll meet again.

Anna Maria keeps her eye on the newspapers posted near the docks. They carry schedules of the ships' voyages, when they leave, when they're expected to return. Every day she anxiously scours the listings; her heart leaps into her throat when Das Licht Des Meeres appears, along with the estimated date of arrival. She waits on the dock every morning with Kolten's tally in her hand, fingers rubbing the cloth as if it's the beads of her rosary. The ship slowly pulls in to port one crisp morning; she cranes her neck, watching as the gangplank is brought out and the sailors begin to disembark with their duffel bags; she doesn't see him exit the ship, but as the noisy crowd thins, there he is, further along the dock; he sees her the moment she sees him, and just as before, he beams at her, and she smiles back. She goes to meet him, holds out the old tally. His smile goes from ear to ear; as if in jest, he removes the ribbon on his cap, and trades it for the old one. "Now you keep that one for luck," he says, tying the old tally around his cap, and Anna Maria's heart thumps.

Kolten is on leave for two weeks. He makes it clear he'd like to spend all that time in her company. Anna Maria blushes bright red, but doesn't mind. She regrets only that she has to work every day, yet Kolten promises he'll see her in the mornings, noons, and evenings. He does well enough to rent himself lodgings in the meantime. The next two weeks are absolutely lovely, and Kolten is an absolute gentleman; he never tries anything inappropriate, even though Anna Maria confesses to Mary that she has feelings for him, and she's sure he feels the same for her. She feels a twinge of guilt that she has a few rather impure thoughts, yet doesn't act on them, and he never pushes her to. When the time comes yet again for them to sadly part ways--his next voyage will last about three months--he does pause, and hesitantly makes a request: "Would you...would you mind, if I kissed you...?" Anna Maria feels her face flush hot--she wants to bury her head in the ground, and to yell, "Nein, nein, NEIN I would not mind!!", at the same time--but she manages to swallow the lump in her throat and stammer, "Uh--I--I wouldn't mind." Kolten pauses--giving her a moment to collect herself--then leans down and gently places his lips to hers, lingering only briefly before pulling away. It's chaste, it lasts but a short moment, yet her heart hammers in her breast and her neck tingles. Kolten stands straight again and offers his soft smile--"For luck," he murmurs--and heads for the ship. Anna Maria stays long enough to look for him on the deck and wave farewell at his cap-lift-head-bob; she heads back to work, then home. Lights her little candle. Says her little prayers. Retires to bed, and has all sorts of dreams...she makes sure to stop by the church and pop into a confessional the next day, she's so overwhelmed by the feelings. What she's not overwhelmed by is guilt...she has a feeling they're meant for each other, that soon, they'll be together, as husband and wife.

The process repeats. She prays at night, works during the day, starts checking the newspapers when the three months is almost up. Das Licht Des Meeres arrives; it feels like an old friend by now. Kolten appears on the dock as if by magic, smiles his beaming smile at the sight of her. His mood dims a bit when he says his leave this time is only a few days, she's saddened too, but they decide to make the most of it. "I wish you didn't always have to go," she murmurs when they prepare to part ways again, clasping each other's hands; "I wish I could keep you near." Her words seem to have an effect on Kolten; he pauses, bites his lip, then pulls his hands free and unties his duffel, digging inside. "I wasn't sure when to give this to you," he says as he looks; "now feels like the right time." He finds what he's looking for, pulls it out--"I found this at our last port of call, it made me think of you"--and holds it out to her: A small box. Anna Maria stares at it a moment, thinking surely it's not what it looks like; then Kolten kneels and opens it. A gold band, with a glittering blue jewel adorning it. She sucks in a breath of disbelief at the beauty of it.

"I saw it in a shop and it was like a sign," Kolten says; "It reminded me of your earrings...and your eyes." He takes the ring out of the box and holds it toward her earnestly; Anna Maria hesitates only briefly, swallowing, before holding out a trembling hand. Kolten slips the ring on her finger, then lingers holding her hand in his. "Now you can keep me near," he says, "until I come back." Anna Maria's eyes blur; she takes a breath, finds her voice, and, "Ja," she murmurs. "Ja...I will."

Kolten and Anna Maria wed on his next leave, and she becomes Anna Maria Himmel. She feels like her heart will burst. Sure, there's still the ever-present complication of his work, taking him away for weeks or months at a time, over and over, yet he always returns, and then they're near inseparable. For a long time, the dark cloud only lingers at the periphery of her vision, as she has him to focus her attention on. More than once he expresses the desire to spoil her--he's not rich by any means, a sailor's savings come and go, but he does well enough--yet she insists she doesn't need much, she's happiest having him by her side.

As the two stroll through the park one evening, Anna Maria suddenly gasps and stumbles to a halt--for an instant she's blinded, then the vision floods her head. She dimly hears Kolten exclaim, "Anna--? Anna Maria--!" before she slumps to the ground. The vision burns overwhelming all her senses for what feels like ages, though when she finally, slowly comes to, lying on the path with Kolten kneeling over her and squeezing her hand, she can tell it's been only a moment. Her visions never last long. He calls her name a few more times, relieved that she's awake, but worried that she may have hit her head, and even when she says she didn't he wishes to take her to a doctor; she declines, insisting she's fine. He's unconvinced until she attempts explaining the reason for her "fainting."

Anna Maria: "I...I didn't want to tell you...I was worried what you might think of me."

Kolten: "I'm your husband, it's obvious I would find out sometime. What didn't you want to tell me?"

Anna Maria: *reluctant* "I...have visions, sometimes."

Kolten: *furrowing brow* "Visions...? What sort of visions?"

Anna Maria: "...Visions from Mother Mary...sometimes the saints."

Kolten: "What do you see?"

Anna Maria: "They show me the answers to things...once in a while something that's to happen yet." *pause* "Kolten...I'm sorry I never told you. I worried you might think me mad."

Kolten: "Why would I think you mad...? It's plain you have a gift."

Anna Maria: *peers up at him* "Sometimes...it feels almost like a curse, instead."

Kolten: "Don't for a moment think of it that way. There are people who would kill for such an ability. You have something special." *pause* "What was it that you saw just now?"

Anna Maria: *faintly* "...An eagle...black...with two heads."

Kolten: *furrowing brow again* "The Reichsadler...? Do you have any idea what it would mean?"

Anna Maria: "Nein...no idea."

Kolten helps Anna Maria back to her feet and they head home. He fawns over her the rest of the night, making sure she's all right and well rested; by bedtime they've forgotten all about the odd incident. Indeed, something else occurs a bit later that completely draws their attention away from the vision--Anna Maria wakes abruptly from a dream, her gasp waking Kolten as well, and as he attempts to calm her down he asks what she dreamed about. "I dreamed I was holding a pear," she says, sleepy and confused. Kolten seems just as perplexed, asks what does a pear mean. Without thinking, Anna Maria shifts her hands; she and Kolten both look down to see that she's placed them over her belly, as if to protect herself. They look at each other.

It's far too soon to go to a doctor, but Anna Maria is certain of it: She's pregnant. When Kolten's next tour comes up, he's reluctant to leave her on her own, and even contemplates a change of profession, something that would keep him on land. Although she wants him to stay near as well, Anna Maria objects: "Remember what you told me? You have legs more for the sea than for land. The sea is your home, I'd never ask you to give it up." "You're my home," Kolten says, to which she smiles and replies, "Then you'll have to come back to me."

Kolten's tour lasts over four months. Anna Maria is awaiting him on the dock when Das Licht Des Meeres arrives; he can hardly run to and embrace her fast enough. He exclaims over the sight of her; she's showing by now, something that was gradual to her, but not to him. After he gets his belongings put away he tends on her hand and foot despite her protests, though she has to admit the attention is nice. The amount of time he'll be on leave is up in the air at the moment, but he promises to stay right by her as much as he can. She even manages a break from working every day, and catches up on some much-needed rest.

The pregnancy progresses normally, no scares, no worries but the usual. Anna Maria hopes to be the best mother she can; she prays at her little shrine (Kolten doesn't share her religiosity, yet he never criticizes it either, and makes every effort to understand and accept it), asks Mother Mary for her guidance, pays close attention to her dreams and to possible signs, yet nothing else overt appears. Kolten is called up again and she can tell the news crushes him--he offers to decline the voyage--but she can't bear to be the one to stand between him and the one other love of his life; she insists that he go, there's nothing to feel guilty about, she'll be waiting as always when he returns. It's almost certain that he won't be back before the birth of their child, but he clasps her hands and vows that if even the tiniest shred of possibility for him to get back to her in time arises, he'll grab it. She sees the ship off, holding up his old tally for him to see; from the deck, he sadly lifts his cap, bobs his head, as Das Licht Des Meeres pulls away.

As expected, Kolten is still at sea when Anna Maria goes into labor. Neighbors take her to the hospital; the process is prolonged and painful, but she gives birth to a healthy baby boy in the sign of Capricorn, a creature half of the land, half of the sea. She cradles him close and when his eyes finally blink open, she sees that they look a lot like hers, a darker, gloomier blue than his father's light, sky-blue eyes. The nurses take him away to let her get some rest, and she dozes off into a dreamless sleep. When she awakes, she sleepily looks to the side and finds Kolten there, the baby now cradled in his own arms; he blinks out of a doze and immediately leans toward her when she says his name. His ship had stopped in another port previously; unable to stand it anymore, he'd requested an extended leave, and took the train to get to her. He regrets not being there for the birth, "But I'm here now. I'm not leaving for a while." He marvels over their new baby--"He has your eyes!"--and asks what she's named him. Anna Maria says she hasn't named him yet...she hoped the two of them could think of something together. Kolten seems surprised by this answer, and admits that he has no ideas. The two new parents sit there for a while staring at the sleeping baby before Kolten says, "Well...I'm sure a name will come to you, ja? Some sort of sign? We just have to keep our eyes open." "They want a name for us to put on the birth certificate," Anna Maria laments, but Kolten replies that they'll just have to wait: "I know it'll come to you when the time is right. We only need to listen."

The nurse visits with them, asks for a name, suggests that the hospital keep hold of the birth certificate until they think of something. They return home once Anna Maria is strong enough. She frets and fusses over the baby, though it's mostly just anxiety; he's healthy, he's well behaved and not colicky, he meets all the expectations a baby is supposed to meet. He just doesn't have a name. Anna Maria and Kolten try to give him the best childhood they can afford, which, in their circumstances, means lots of walks in the parks and streets. He's too young yet to ride on his father's shoulders, and they have no stroller, so they take turns carrying him; he blinks his big blue eyes curiously at everything around him, cooing curiously. Kolten tells him the names of everything he sees; he's too young yet to speak, but "He's bright, brighter than both of us, I just know it," Kolten murmurs proudly, "Just watch, he'll learn everything, and go to the best universities." "Liebe, we can't afford universities," Anna Maria protests; Kolten just pooh-poohs her: "We'll find a way! And even if we don't, even if he never sets foot in a university, just you watch. He'll make something of himself. He'll make a difference. I know you don't care for the big things. But even a small thing can be important. He'll do something that matters, just watch." Anna Maria says, "Even if it matters just for one person...that's enough. It doesn't have to be anything grand, I just want his life to mean something." Kolten grasps her hand and replies, "It will. I have a feeling. Whatever he does, it'll matter."

They visit a nearby, larger city, and stroll around through its heart, admiring the old buildings, the streets, the statues. Kolten is busy murmuring the names of various things that capture the baby's attention and make him wave his hands when Anna Maria, walking along lost in her thoughts, lifts her head and sees it--looming over her, a large eagle, black, double headed. She gasps and jerks to a halt. Kolten hurries to her side, ready to ask what's wrong, when he sees it as well, eyes widening, so she knows it's not just her this time. It takes a moment for her shock to fade enough for her to realize she's staring at the side of a pedestal of a statue; Kolten hands her the baby, and circles around to the statue's front, looking up--it's the figure of a crowned man bearing an orb and a cross scepter--then down again at its base. "Otto der Grosse," he reads from the inscription, "Holy Roman Emperor." He blinks, lowers his head, looks at Anna Maria and then down at the baby. "Otto," he says, with an air of immense confidence.

Anna Maria, however, isn't so sure; she furrows her brow. "Otto...?" she murmurs doubtfully; "It isn't even a Biblical name." She just assumed the child would end up named something like Johann, or Matthias. Yet Kolten seems convinced: "The vision you had with the Reichsadler! It was just before your dream, with the pear. They're connected, surely, ja?--this must be the sign!" Seeing her hesitation, he falters a little: "Unless I misunderstand...? You are the one who saw it...am I interpreting it wrong?" Anna Maria just stares at the baby for a moment or so; "Otto," she says softly, and he looks up at her, blue eyes focusing on hers. She glances up at the statue, back down at the baby, and he appears to notice the statue too, for he stretches out an arm and makes a noise, as if wanting to know what it is; "Otto," Anna Maria says again, without thinking, and the baby says, "Ah," because he's too young to speak, but all of a sudden her mind is made up. She looks up at Kolten, her own expression certain now, and nods.

After their trip they return to the hospital, have the birth certificate filled out. Anna Maria brings the baby to the church to be baptized and although she doesn't give him a new, Christian first name, she does give him a saint's middle name: Otto Aloysius Himmel. Baby Otto makes an unpleasant face and lets out a displeased mewl when the water trickles over him.

Kolten eventually returns to the sea; Anna Maria receives help from her neighbors and the church in raising young Otto. Just as his father had predicted, Otto is bright, curious, intelligent; he's quiet and a bit shy and serious--Anna Maria can't help but spot a trace of her own melancholia in him, and it hurts--but is also eager to learn new things, always asking questions when he's unsure of something, and always remembering what he's learned. Anna Maria is thankful that, although he always listens fascinated to the stories Kolten tells him of being at sea every time he returns home, Otto appears to have no inclination to follow him out onto the water; he remains firmly on the land, showing as much fascination for the rites and rituals his mother engages in, joining her when she offers prayers at her little shrine to Mary. She and Kolten pool their savings to send Otto to the best schools they can afford once he's old enough; Anna Maria hopes for him to have a better life than either of them had. They aren't rich, they have to watch every pfennig, and Kolten is far too often away from home, leaving mother and son on their own for long periods; yet they manage, and aside from a gloomy spell of Anna Maria's here and there, they're happy.

One lowering, cloudy day, Anna Maria and Otto accompany Kolten to the docks to see him off; he's to be away for a couple of months. They stop not far from the ship and Kolten turns to smile at Anna Maria. She blinks--suddenly, her husband is surrounded by a glow like a halo in a religious painting, backlighting him, nearly casting his features into shadow. She thinks maybe it's the sun breaking through the clouds, yet the sky is as dark as before. It's a beautiful, wondrous sight--yet Anna Maria's heart twists, and her blood runs cold. "Don't go," she blurts out, without thinking. Kolten blinks, furrows his brow; even Otto peers up at her, puzzled. Kolten seems to notice the distress on her face; "Anna...?" he says; then, "You saw something. What is it?" When she doesn't reply, he grasps her hands, hard. "If you want me to stay," he urges, "just ask it. I'll stay. I'll never go out there again if it's what you wish. I'll find another job...something working the docks, maybe...still near the water." He glances over his shoulder at Das Licht Des Meeres, then back at her. "All you have to do is ask me, and I'll do it."

Anna Maria nearly tells him to stay, to never go out on the water again, because something is telling her, an alarm bell is clanging in her head, that if he does, she's never going to see him again. Yet she sees something else, a flicker in Kolten's eyes. There's grief lurking just under the surface, grief and loss for something that hasn't happened yet--and only she can prevent it from happening. She knows, just as surely as she knows this is the last time she'll see her husband, that if she asks him to stay, she'll break his heart. He'll still be with her, he'll still be alive...but will he, really? He has two homes, after all, and she would be asking him to give up the first one he's ever known. She's known such feelings of pain and emptiness all her life...she can't bear the thought of inflicting them on anyone else, if she has the choice. She can break his heart...or she can break her own.

Anna Maria swallows, blinks the blur from her eyes, takes a breath. Summons the most convincing yet wavery smile she can manage. Clasps Kolten's hands back, and shakes her head. "Nein," she says, "just...come back to me?"

Kolten stares at her a moment longer before visibly relaxing. He touches her face. "I'll always come back to you," he murmurs, "I promise." He kisses her forehead, wishes her farewell; kneels to kiss Otto's forehead, tells him, as always, that he's the man of the house for now, and Otto promises to do his best and be good; then, with a last glance back, Kolten turns and heads up the gangway. Anna Maria and Otto wait on the dock until he appears far above; he lifts his cap, tally streaming, and bobs his head, blowing them a kiss. Then, he's gone. Anna Maria lingers this time, clasping Otto's hand, and doesn't stop watching until Das Licht Des Meeres is long out of sight. "Mutter...?" Otto murmurs, finally drawing her out of her thoughts; she smiles at him through the beginning of her tears, and they head home.

Anna Maria returns to working during the days, prays to Mary every night. Begs her to look after Kolten, to keep him safe. Otto does his lessons, does his chores, helps any way he can even though he's still so young, Anna Maria's heart aches for him, for the childhood he should have. She watches the newspapers, and eventually Das Licht Des Meeres appears in the schedule; she takes Otto to the docks to wait. The ship doesn't arrive on the expected day, yet this in itself isn't alarming; it's been as late as a week on more than one occasion. Anna Maria swallows her anxiety, puts on a brave face for Otto--"Maybe Vater will arrive tomorrow"--and takes him home. Yet the ship doesn't arrive the next day, or the next...a week passes, with her heart clenching harder in her chest every day, and still no word of what's happened. Anna Maria questions the dock workers, the merchants, the sailors and captains of the other ships that arrive; they have no news to give her, although they're obviously sympathetic. She asks the man who posts the newspaper near the docks; he says there's been no word of Das Licht Des Meeres yet, though he's heard there were storms reported along her route. Anna Maria fights back the tears as she mumbles her thanks; she manages to hold them off until she's lying in bed alone that night, and cries herself to sleep.

Anna Maria opens her eyes, then squints, confused, when light pours into her room; "Otto...?" she murmurs, thinking maybe he's opened the shutters. The windows are still dark--yet the walls, floor, and ceiling are rippling with soft bluish light. Kolten is standing across from the bed, staring at her, his eyes sad. Anna Maria gasps--"Kolten!"--and bolts upright in the bed, ready to throw off the blankets and run to him...yet he's surrounded by the same brilliant halo as before, and it's as if a soft breeze flows around him, lifting the edges of his clothes, the trailing ends of his tally. As Anna Maria stares, she realizes what it looks like...it looks as if she's viewing Kolten through an undulating wall of water. As soon as she realizes this, Kolten raises his hand. Tips his cap...the tally gently waving behind it. Bobs his head. And fades away, the soft blue glow fading away with him.

Anna Maria doesn't want to believe that the vision meant what it looked like. Tells herself, perhaps he's still out there, just lost. Perhaps he's telling her he's trying to come home. She hopes against hope. She has trouble rousing Otto from bed one morning not long after; he mumbles that he doesn't feel well, and he's not prone to malingering. She presses a hand to his forehead, gasps at how hot he is, hurries to call a doctor. The doctor can't determine what specifically is wrong, without sending Otto away to a specialist; Anna Maria can hardly afford it, and the doctor isn't sure Otto could handle the journey anyway. He advises her to give him fluids, place cold cloths on him, keep watch for if he gets worse; other than that, there's little to be done, but hope and pray. Anna Maria does both, praying to Saint Aloysius and weeping before her little shrine at night, entreating Mary as a fellow grieving mother: "Bitte, don't take him from me," she begs through her tears, "I can't lose him, too. Bitte, let him get better. I'd give anything. Bitte, without him I have nothing left. Bitte..."

Otto burns with fever for over a week. Kolten's ship does not return. Anna Maria's neighbors bring food and well wishes, clean the house for her, do the chores, as she's in no shape to do so, spending almost every hour at her son's bedside, leaving him in the care of a friend only to wait on the docks. She dreams that Mother Mary tells her her son will live: "Death will come for him, over and over...sickness, war, the blade...yet it won't take him. Only age will touch him." Late one night, into the second week of this hell, she wakes at a faint call of "Mutter...!" drifting from Otto's room. She tosses on a robe, hurries to his bedside, lights the lamp; Otto's cheeks are still flushed, his face still sweaty, but when she touches him this time he's not nearly so hot. The fever has broken. "Mutter, I'm thirsty," he murmurs drowsily, so she tilts his head up and gives him a sip of water. Then--"I saw Vater," Otto says faintly, and Anna Maria's heart nearly stops.

A tremor in her voice, she asks him what he means. He repeats that he saw Kolten: "He looked sad. He told me he's not coming home. But he said to be strong, that I'm the man of the house now." He peers up at Anna Maria, who's barely holding back her tears. "Mutter...why is Vater not coming home?" he asks.

Anna Maria swallows, offers a faint, pained smile. "He's not coming home because he can't, Liebe," she murmurs. "He's somewhere else now and can't come home from there. I know he would, if he could." "Will we ever see him again...?" Otto asks, to which she nods, and puts her arm around him. "Ja, we will...we'll go to see him someday." "Soon?" Otto asks, and she shakes her head: "Nein, Liebe, not soon...not for a long time. But we'll see him again. I promise."

Otto is weak for a while as he recovers. A notice eventually appears in the papers, reporting the disappearance of Das Licht Des Meeres, presumed to have gone down in a squall with all hands aboard. Anna Maria cries every night alone in her room with her shrine. Her heart feels both too empty--empty from the hole Kolten's absence has left in it--and too full--full of all the love she has for Otto, the only one left in her life. Yet her heart breaks for him as well, as it's obvious now that he's inherited her gift, or her curse, or perhaps both. She'd hoped for a normal, happy life for him. She no longer has any fear of losing him--Mother Mary made it clear he will likely long outlive her--but she regrets that she can't offer him this one thing, that he has to shoulder such a burden himself. She wants to give him everything. But she hurts so much, she feels she has too little to offer anymore, and on especially dark days--which are growing more and more frequent without Kolten's warm, encouraging presence to stave them off--she wonders if her son would be better off without her darkness pulling him down like the waves pulled down Kolten's ship. She takes to calling him mein Licht, my light, as he's the only spark she has left.

Anna Maria holds on as long as she's able. She sends Otto to the best school that her and Kolten's savings can afford. He learns languages, history, literature, fencing. What the school doesn't teach him, he looks up on his own. He's always at her side when she visits church, even though it brings her far less comfort than it once did, and she wonders if her prayers are even heard anymore; her visions, her dreams, seem to have faded away since the last message from Mother Mary, and she fears she's no longer good enough for the saints' wisdom. Worst of all, she never dreams of Kolten, no matter how much her heart aches and her soul cries out for him. She numbly does her work for a pittance every day, but in the home, increasingly it's Otto who tends to the chores; more than once he has to coax her to care for herself, ask her to eat, or help her off the couch and to bed. On nights after he tucks her in and kisses her forehead--"Schlaf gut, Mutter"--she weeps silently into her pillow, and hugs the one where Kolten once rested his head. She grieves that he has no grave for her to visit. That he's down there somewhere, in the cold dark deep, with no light to watch over him. That she just can't bring herself to be the mother her son needs right now.

She holds on. Otto grows into his early teens, soft spoken, polite, dutiful, modest; a hard worker and a true believer just like she is; the neighbors, the churchgoers, his teachers, tell Anna Maria what a lovely son she has, he would have made his father proud. She always smiles and thanks them though her heart clenches inside. Her Otto needs a father, a mother, yet he pretty much has neither, as he has to look after her when he's home. She fears he'll never get to go out in the world, start his own family, find his own happiness and purpose. She feels as if she's the anchor holding him down, holding him back. Dragging him down into the dark after her.

The rumble of war arises, but she's not paying attention. The darkness is crushing her; even crying feels like too much effort anymore. One day while Otto is off at classes, Anna Maria sits down to write him a letter. She has to wipe her damp eyes and take a steadying breath now and then as she writes to her son that she's sorry he's on his own now, yet she knows he'll be all right, Mother Mary told her so; her visions may have stopped, but they've never steered her wrong. She tries to explain the darkness closing in, slowly drowning her, though she's sure he knows already what she's talking about, she's sorry also that she passed it on to him--if she could take it from him, do one useful deed to ease his own pain, she gladly would. She tells him her highest remaining hope, that he live his own life, no longer burdened by hers; she knows she will bring him grief no matter what she does, just that this feels like the lesser of two evils. Her Otto has to be strong. He has to forge ahead. He may be alone now, but not truly. God walks with him, and Mary and all the saints, and his father and the ancestors who've gone before. And not least of all, his mother, who will always love and watch over him, no matter what path he takes. Kolten had had a feeling that his life would go somewhere, would mean something. She feels it, too. She tells him one last time that she loves him, and always will: "I have never once been disappointed in you, mein Licht."

Otto returns home late in the afternoon; after classes, he often seeks small work in the city like his mother does, making what extra money he can to help out; he's excellent with paperwork, with files and typing and writing and organizing, so it's not too hard to find chores that the townsfolk need done, especially now that so many of the men are heading off to the front. "Sorry I'm late, Mutter," he exclaims as he comes in, wiping his boots, shaking off his coat, hanging up his cap; he heads straight into the little kitchen, opens cabinets, takes out a pair of bowls, a pan, sets down the small package of groceries he picked up for that evening's supper, which he always prepares for them since the decline in his mother's spirits. He gets everything up and cooking, prepares a drink, enters the parlor, expecting to find her lying listless on the couch, ready to gently rouse her and get her to take a sip as he tells her about his day--he always manages to get a wan smile out of her that way--yet the couch is empty, no one is there. "Mutter...?" he says, puzzled; he sets the drink down, looks around. "Mutter?" he calls louder as he wanders, before spotting an envelope on the hallway stand; he opens it, unfolds the paper, reads the delicate script. His face goes paler as he reads; he reaches the end, drops the letter--"Mutter?--Mutter!" he exclaims, and hurries down the hall to her room.

Anna Maria is lying atop the bedcovers, fully dressed, curled up on her side with her arms loosely around Kolten's pillow. She looks like she's simply sleeping, but her face is pale, and she's not moving. "Mutter," Otto says breathlessly, hurrying to her and grasping her hand--then gasping and letting it go. He freezes for a moment before gingerly touching her face. It's as cold as her hand. He sees something lying in a tangle of cloth and picks it up. A small bottle, labeled LAUDANUM. Otto's breath hitches and his vision blurs.

He sits by her for a little while as the shadows, both literal and figurative, grow around them. Holds her cold hand in his own and cries. Wipes his eyes, sniffling, and gets up to go turn off the stove before there can be an accident; he dumps out the uneaten food, puts away the unused dishes. Goes to his room, pulls out a little suitcase, and hastily but methodically packs a few necessities, clothes, food, money, personal papers, having to stop and wipe his eyes repeatedly. His step falters as he returns to his parents' room. He stares at his mother for a moment or so; she's not wearing her earrings, the blue ones his father had admired as reminding him of her eyes and the sea--it got to be too much effort to put on unnecessary jewelry every day--though she's of course wearing her rings, both her plain wedding band and the ring Kolten gave her with the blue stone. Otto wants something to remind him of her, to keep her close, but he can't take her rings. She needs to be wearing them when she meets Kolten again, wearing his. He goes to the dresser, finds the blue earrings, and, beside them, a black ribbon emblazoned in gold, DAS LICHT DES MEERES. Kolten's old tally, which he'd given Anna Maria so long ago, for luck.

Otto takes a breath, rubs his wet eyes, grabs the earrings and the tally and shuts the drawer. He tucks them and his mother's letter in his shirt. Then fetches the bottle of laudanum, and hides it far under the bed, beneath a loose board, and out of sight. Tries to hold back his tears as he kisses his mother's forehead--"Schlaf gut, Mutter," he murmurs--and then fetches his coat and cap, and goes to the neighbors', knocking loudly and calling out.

The neighbors are decent people. This door belongs to an elderly couple who respond quickly to Otto's cries, hurrying after him as he leads them to his mother. He tells them he couldn't wake her, that he found her like this. He tells only the truth, though not all of it; he doesn't mention the letter, or the bottle. The wife leads him to his room and sets him down, comforting him as her husband checks on Anna Maria before calling her back. She tells Otto to stay put a moment, though he creeps up the hall to listen in a bit. They're talking in hushed voices, but his hearing is good. The husband has found the bottle of laudanum, and says they need to inform the authorities. The wife protests, "Nein!" and in a whisper, explains: "You see the shrine--? They're Catholics. Suicide is the one unforgivable sin. If you mention this, she won't be buried in consecrated ground." She says they'll report it as an accident instead, and adds that she'll tell Otto the same, to spare him the shame. They can take him in in the meantime.

Otto hardly hears this last bit. He's busy returning to his room, fetching his packed case, and furtively exiting without a word. By the time they realize he's no longer within the home, he's long gone, running along the street, heading toward the train station. He remembers the train from when he was little and they occasionally visited the neighboring city, where his father pointed out the statue of Otto the Great. There's a military recruitment office there. Otto is only fourteen. Yet he believes he can lie convincingly enough that he's of age, and given the budding war and the need for soldiers, they may be lax in checking him out too closely. He reaches the station, buys a one-way ticket, and bustles aboard just as the train is preparing to pull away; he finds his car and squeezes into the seat, gasping for breath, case clasped to his chest. He digs in his shirt, finds the earrings and tally and letter, feels his eyes flood. He doesn't bother wiping away the tears as the train whistle blows and it slowly leaves the station; water is starting to stream down the window, so it's hard to tell where tears end and the rain begins. Over the port city, and seated alone in the train, the heavens begin to cry.

EDIT: Song for the Himmel family (closed captioning on for lyrics).

[Kolten Himmel 2024 [‎Friday, ‎April ‎5, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:47 AM]]

#artists on tumblr #ibisPaint x #SketchDaily #original characters

0 notes