FFXIV Write: 07 – Pawn

verb (used with object)
to deposit as security, as for money borrowed, especially with a pawnbroker:

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It was the winter I turned fifteen. Our gardens had not prospered because mother had been so taken to her bed, thanks to father’s… visits. Food in the Shroud was a commodity thanks to the early frost. Father was off with the tribe, as he often was, caring little to nothing for whether or not we survived without him. I don’t recall ever being quite so miserable as we had been that winter.

I had to do something. I went under my bed to a small box I kept there; a hidden treasure trove of all my most precious possessions. From within, I took out a small silver locket. Mother had given it to me on my tenth birthday. The artistry was nothing like I’d ever seen, her likeness carved in cameo into the silver with such delicate precision that it seemed almost life-like. It was still nested within its velvet-chased case, carefully pinned to the silken interior. It had, no doubt, cost my mother a small fortune — insofar as a ‘fortune’ entailed to folk as impoverished as we.

I dared not wear it openly. My work was too arduous, too demanding, I worried it would get snagged on something and lost. There was also the issue of Father. He would no doubt try to steal it and sell it, in order to fund his disgusting habits. No, this was a cherished gift and I would keep it well protected, forever.

Until desperation turned me into a liar.

Taking it from its nesting place, box and all, I made my way to the Shaded Bower. I couldn’t bear to keep even the box as it would be too painful, a constant reminder of what I’d given up in the name of survival. With tear-filled haste, I took it first to the jeweler, Ilorie, but she had no interest in my trinket. Or, at least, no interest in doing business with me. She was familiar with my father, my family, and shooed me away from her stall claiming I’d put-off her better, more reputable customers.

Wounded, but not defeated, I tried again with Alaric the tinker. However, he was bound for Ala Mhigo and such finery had no place among the more practical things he intended to bring there.

Ultimately, I ended up doing business with Mauvais the Drifter; an elezen man who came and went, passing through town on occasion. He was always happy to buy peoples’ cast-offs for likely less than one might have gotten with a reputable dealer.

Five thousand gil was all he gave me for the locket. Five thousand gil was what I had to get us through the winter. But it was five thousand gil that kept us alive.

But there will always be a part of me that regrets having to pawn part of my love and my connection to my mother to do it. Had I to do it over again…? I likely would do the same. Our survival meant more to me than a trinket. Perhaps someday I will find it again.

Someday.