Everything started to change, but not for the better — no, for her own detriment.
After that frightful night, ill-fare and misfortune began to fall on Aurora and her papa.
It began like this: first, her papa ran mad — he literally became demented. Aurora was confused, for sure. If her father was now a madman, who would care for her? Unfortunately, things grew worse as the villagers became hostile towards them.
"How can the messenger of the gods become demented? It's simply not acceptable!" they said. Aurora remembered their words vividly.
"He is cursed! By the gods, he is! Him and his daughter too!" And just like that, the villagers drove Aurora and her demented papa out of their house, down to an old cottage at the edge of the village. From that day on, they lived as outcasts.
But it didn't end there. Fifteen-year-old Aurora was as perplexed as ever. Could she care for herself and her papa at the same time? She must! She reminded herself that she must, or else hunger would smite them both to death.
Even with her leg challenge, Aurora managed to walk down to the marketplace to beg — at least, that was her only option. But it didn't work out well for her. As she walked from stall to stall begging for alms, the villagers pushed her to the dirt.
"Go away, you cursed child, useless thing! I pity the womb that gave birth to you!" they spat, pelting her with rotten fruit and vegetables.
That day, Aurora felt like dying. No, she wanted to die. There was absolutely no use in her being alive. She was hopeless, torn, miserable, and most of all, shamed.
There she lay on the dirt road, covered with mud and rot, with no way to return to the collapsing cottage she called home — where her demented papa waited. What a life, one would say.
She was so hungry and tired that out of exhaustion she fainted.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself back at the old cottage, lying on her simple quilt, unwashed for days. Two girls were inside, arranging the place neatly. Aurora was confused, surprised, and shocked. She tried to stand, but her legs failed. She was spastic, sometimes struck by sudden, tight pain that paralyzed her legs for a while.
"Who are you two?" she asked, her voice weak and shaking.
"We are sorry if we scared you. We mean well," one of the girls said.
"I don't understand," Aurora replied, because no one in the village ever wished her well.
The girls smiled. "Don't worry, we know you wouldn't. My name is Amberly," one said.
"And I'm Annika," the other added.
"I am Aurora," she said awkwardly, which made the girls laugh.
"We know," they both chorused.
"We saw what the villagers did to you this morning, and we don't think it's fair at all," Amberly said.
"We want to be your friends, Aurora," Annika added.
"I don't think you should," Aurora told them. "I am cursed, haven't you heard?"
The girls exchanged looks. "We have, but we don't care," Annika said.
Just then, Aurora's stomach growled loudly. She pressed her hands against it and whispered, "Sorry."
"It's alright. We knew you'd be famished. So I stole this from my mama's pot," Annika said, handing her a plate of beans.
Aurora's mouth watered. She hurriedly took the plate and began to dig in with her bare hands, eating like she hadn't seen food in months.
"Careful, or you might choke," Amberly warned. But Aurora paid no heed, too hungry to stop.
Amberly and Annika exchanged a smile. From that day on, they became friends with the cursed girl. Despite their parents' warnings to stay away, they kept coming to Aurora's cottage to bring food and water. Still, Aurora knew she couldn't depend on them alone. Sometimes they couldn't come — Annika's parents forbade her, and Amberly's aunt, who owned a whorehouse, often locked her inside.
So Aurora knew she had to fend for herself.
Every morning when it rained, she set out two wooden buckets. Once filled, she washed her papa first, then herself — otherwise their odor would drive them out of their own home. Lucky for Aurora, it rained every morning, and she was grateful. That was their only source of bathing and drinking water.
Afterward, Aurora would grab a small wooden plate and head to the marketplace with her face covered by a shawl. If the villagers saw it was her, their cruelty would only worsen. She usually stayed in a corner near the bakery, because she loved the smell of freshly baked pastries. Someday, she wished, she would be a baker.
So, as she begged for coins, she also spied on the baker whenever they began to knead dough.
Sometimes only two coins were tossed into her plate, sometimes one. Aurora didn't mind. No matter how little, she was grateful — at least it was enough to buy bread for dinner.
And so it went on for a whole month: Aurora begged on the streets of Aztlan.
Until one day, as she stood in her usual spot…
"Alms, please. Alms for the poor," she said in her tiny voice, dangling the wooden plate before her. It was raining, but only a drizzle.
"You are going to catch a cold," a voice said.
Aurora raised her face. Before her stood a young woman with extremely white hair — beautiful beyond compare.
She glanced around the crowded market to see if anyone else noticed this exquisite female.
"You need not bother," the woman said. "They can't see me."
Aurora's eyes widened. "Why not?"
"Because they are not special, Aurora."
Aurora's mouth dropped. "How did you know my name?"
"I know everything, dearest child," the woman said, crouching down to smile at her — a smile so alluring that Aurora smiled back, though her face remained hidden beneath the shawl.
"You are very special, Aurora. And beautiful too," the woman said.
Aurora lowered her head. "Nay, I am not."
The woman reached and yanked away the shawl. Aurora tried to snatch it back, but the stranger was faster.
"Give it back," Aurora pleaded.
"And if I refuse?"
"Please, I need it. You don't understand."
"Aye, I do. Why are you hiding your alluring face behind this rag?"
"It's a shawl," Aurora corrected.
The woman shrugged. "It looks like a rag to me."
She pulled out a pouch — a very large pouch — and offered it to Aurora. Hesitant, Aurora finally accepted and untied it.
Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open. Inside were golden coins — so many she couldn't believe her eyes.
"Am I dreaming?" she asked.
"Nay, you are not, Aurora. I don't want to see you begging ever again."
"I… I don't know what to say," Aurora stammered.
"It's alright, dearest one. You need not say anything."
"Thank you," Aurora whispered as tears welled in her eyes.
"Remember this — don't give ear to what they say about you and your papa. They are the cursed ones, not you."
Aurora nodded as tears rolled down her cheeks.
"And…" The woman lifted Aurora's chin gently. "Gorgeous you are, my dear. So hold your head a little higher."
She stood, handed the shawl back, and said, "Promise me you won't wear that ever again."
"I won't," Aurora assured.
The woman smiled, and for Aurora, it seemed that smile lasted forever. She turned and began to walk away. Then she stopped, turned back, winked, and disappeared.
Aurora, though perplexed, couldn't stop smiling. She looked down at the pouch of coins, clutched it to her chest, and whispered:
"Thank you."