Vengeance Through Passion

The sky had darkened, casting long shadows over the narrow path that led to the isolated cottage. A soft breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine.

Aricia's sandals made faint thudding sounds as she walked, her eyes darting nervously to the sides, searching the thickening shadows for any sign of Martha. It wasn’t fear of the woman, but rather a deep, gnawing guilt that made her dread this encounter. She wasn’t ready to face Martha's probing gaze.

As Aricia reached the edge of the stone path leading directly to the front door, her steps grew more cautious. The old boards of the porch creaked under her weight, betraying her approach as she tried to skirt quietly to the side.

The door was ajar, but there was no sign of Martha. For a moment, Aricia thought she might make it inside undetected, but just as her hand reached for the handle, she collided with something firm yet yielding—a body.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she stumbled back, arms flailing to regain balance.

"Are you okay, child?" The familiar rasp of Martha’s voice cut through the air, laced with concern.

Aricia froze. Her limbs went stiff, her breath catching in her chest. She had been caught, and by the very person she had been avoiding. Martha's small frame stood just in front of her, close enough to see the deep lines carved into her face by time and hardship. Her eyes were fixed on Aricia’s face, a frown of confusion forming as her gaze drifted to the faint stains of dried blood smeared along Aricia’s cheek and temple.

Martha’s wrinkled fingers reached out, gentle but firm, tracing the edge of the crimson marks as though confirming their existence. Her expression darkened with concern.

"Is this…blood?"

Martha’s voice was soft, but each word landed like a hammer blow on Aricia’s ears. She tried to speak, to form some sort of explanation, but the words never came. Instead, she stood there, mute and frozen, her mind swimming in a fog of guilt and exhaustion.

The older woman’s voice seemed to blur and distort as she continued questioning. “Where did this come from? What happened?” But Aricia heard none of it. She was slipping, mentally retreating into a void, into the comfortable numbness she had clung to for days.

Suddenly, Martha recoiled, her sharp gasp slicing through the air like a blade.

“Ahhh!” Martha's scream shattered the silence, and she stumbled back, her hands clutching at themselves as if burned. Her face twisted in alarm as she rubbed at her palms, eyes wide with shock and horror.

That scream was enough to snap Aricia out of her trance. Blinking rapidly, she looked at Martha’s hands in confusion.

"Wh…what are you…?” Aricia stammered, her voice thick with disbelief. “I’m so sorry."

Instinctively, she stepped forward, arms outstretched, but immediately stopped herself as her eyes landed on Martha’s hands. The skin on them was red and raw, as though they had been scorched.

Aricia’s stomach dropped, a wave of nausea overtaking her as she realized what had happened. Her gloves. She had lost them.

She had made up several excuses until now but she was just tired of all the lies.

"I… I’m so sorry." She muttered again, her voice barely a whisper, guilt flooding her veins as she glanced at Martha's burned hands.

"Why are your hands bare?" Martha demanded, stepping closer as her voice regained some of its sharpness. "And your gloves? Where are they?"

The mention of the gloves sent a fresh wave of panic through Aricia. She knew the gloves had been special, irreplaceable even, and now, they were gone—lost in the chaos of everything that had happened.

"I… I lost them," Aricia whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Her vision blurred as the tears spilled over.

Those gloves had been more than just protection. She was dangerous, unpredictable, a walking hazard to those around her.

"How could you…" Martha began, her voice filled with a mix of exasperation and concern. She sighed and softened her tone, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Aricia’s shoulder. "It’s alright, child. I’ll find a way to replace them. They were old and worn out anyway."

But Aricia couldn’t bear to hear it. The pity in Martha’s voice felt like salt in an open wound, and the guilt she had been pushing down for days surged to the surface with a force that took her breath away.

Her tears flowed freely now, hot and unchecked as they streamed down her cheeks.

"I’m not a child anymore, Martha." Aricia’s voice was raw, trembling with emotion as she spoke. "Don’t you think you’ve lied to me enough?"

Martha looked startled, her lips parting as if to protest, but Aricia pressed on, her words tumbling out in a flood of frustration and pain.

"It’s not alright! My parents went to great lengths to get those gloves, and now they’re gone." Her voice cracked as she spoke, the loss of the gloves feeling like a symbol of everything she had failed at. "You can’t just replace them, not with something from the local market. You can’t find gloves like that anywhere in the world."

Martha opened her arms then, pulling Aricia into a tight embrace. Her hands, still red and tender from the burns, patted Aricia’s back soothingly, though the younger woman’s arms hung loosely at her sides, her body trembling with sobs.

"It’s alright, dear," Martha whispered, her voice soft as she cradled Aricia. "It’s alright."

Aricia shook her head in Martha’s arms, choking on the words that refused to stay buried any longer. "I just want to rest. I want to sleep, Martha. I just.. want to sleep peacefully at night. I won’t complain about anything again. I promise. I just… I just want to rest."

Her voice cracked as she sobbed harder, her entire body shaking with the force of her grief and exhaustion. "I’m trying, Martha. I’m trying so hard, but it’s just too much. I want to rest now."

Martha held her tighter, letting her cry, her own eyes brimming with unshed tears as she whispered words of comfort. "You deserve that rest, child. You’ve been strong for so long. It’s alright to take breaks like this. You’ve done a good job holding out until now."

Aricia’s body finally gave in to her exhaustion. Her sobs slowed, becoming quieter until they faded altogether. She sagged against Martha, her eyes heavy with fatigue and her breaths evening out as sleep began to overtake her.

Martha stood there for a long time, holding the young woman close, feeling the weight of her in her arms as Aricia succumbed to the peace she so desperately needed. Hours passed as they stood there in the darkened night, the only sounds the rustle of wind through the trees and the faint, steady breaths of Aricia as she slept.

When she was sure Aricia was truly asleep, Martha gently lifted her in her arms, her old bones protesting under the weight but holding firm. She carried Aricia into the cottage, her steps slow and careful as she laid her down on the small bed in the corner of the room.

Martha sat beside the bed, watching as Aricia’s chest rose and fell with each steady breath. She looked so peaceful, so young and vulnerable in her sleep. The lines of worry and exhaustion had faded from her face, leaving only faint traces.

"You can rest now, dear child," Martha whispered softly, her hand resting gently on Aricia’s head. "It’s alright."

For a long while, Martha sat by the bed, her hands resting gently on the blanket as she watched over the sleeping girl. Outside, the first light of dawn began to peek through the trees, casting a soft glow across the room.

Finally, Martha stood, her own body aching with exhaustion. She moved to the small window, looking out at the forest beyond, and let out a long, deep sigh.

***

As Aricia drifted deeper into her slumber, she found herself transported back to the warmth and innocence of her childhood. The heavy burdens of her present dissolved, giving way to memories that swirled with the soft glow of nostalgia.

It was a quiet morning. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows of her spacious room, casting long beams that danced across the floor. Books were scattered everywhere, some open with pages fluttering gently in the breeze that crept through the window. Young Aricia, barely eight years old, stirred beneath the soft linens of her bed, her small frame shifting as she yawned widely, her arms stretching toward the ceiling.

A familiar voice called from the other side of the door, firm yet caring.

"My Lady, it’s time for your bath."

Her yawn stretched even further as she rolled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cool floor.

"Yes, dear Martha, but really, must it always be time for a bath?" she sighed dramatically, her voice tinged with playful complaints. "It’s the fourth time today, and I’ve barely slept for an hour!"

The door creaked open, and with it came another voice—a voice so warm and comforting that it made Aricia’s heart leap.

"Really? I gather my baby hates her usual baths."

Aricia spun toward the voice, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Mama?" she cried, her small voice echoing with joy.

In an instant, all her sleepy reluctance vanished. Her mother, Queen Mother Witherlock, was standing there, bathed in the gentle morning light. Clad in a flowing gown of soft silks, her mother’s regal presence filled the room with ease. Aricia hardly saw her these days; the queen’s duties kept her occupied in a separate chamber, and visits like this were rare.

"Yes, dear Ricia," her mother answered, her eyes softening as she crouched down to her daughter’s level.

Aricia’s face brightened with anticipation. "Aren’t you busy today?" she asked, her tone curious and hopeful.

"Of course, my dear. But today is different."

Aricia’s curiosity deepened, and she leaned closer, her mother’s presence intoxicating and precious.

"Why is today different?"

Queen Witherlock smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear.

"Did you forget already? Today is your birthday."

Aricia giggled, bouncing on her toes.

"I know! But it’s not midnight yet, is it?"

Her mother chuckled softly, a sound that made Aricia’s heart flutter.

"Well, you see, Mama likes to be early," she teased. "I thought I’d bring you something special today."

From behind her back, Queen Witherlock revealed a small box wrapped in silk. The rich fabric shimmered in the light, and Aricia’s eyes grew wide with wonder as she reached for it.

"A present?" she asked breathlessly, her fingers trembling with excitement.

"Open it," her mother encouraged, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

Aricia eagerly tore at the silk, her hands moving in a flurry of excitement. Inside was a small, leather-bound book, its cover plain yet elegant, the pages untouched by any ink. Her face lit up in amazement.

"A book?" she whispered, cradling it as if it were a treasure.

Her mother nodded.

"Mmhm. You love them, don’t you?"

Aricia nodded enthusiastically, hugging the book to her chest.

"But… what’s the name?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she noticed the absence of a title. "It… doesn’t say."

Queen Witherlock smiled again, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I haven’t come up with one yet," she admitted.

Aricia’s face lit up even more, if that were possible.

"You wrote it?" she asked, her voice filled with awe.

"Of course," her mother said, her tone playful yet full of pride. "I’ve been working on it just for you."

Aricia’s heart swelled with admiration. She gazed at her mother as though she were the most incredible person in the world.

"I want to be a writer like you, Mama," she declared with conviction.

Her mother’s expression softened, and she placed a hand gently on Aricia’s cheek.

"You can become whatever you want to be," she said, her voice full of warmth. "Do you know why I named you Aricia?"

Aricia shook her head, her wide eyes locked on her mother’s.

"It has many meanings," her mother began, her voice lowering slightly. "The world and everything in it is never as it seems. People see things differently, judge differently, and find their own interpretations. I named you Aricia because you’re full of possibilities, and you’ll see the world in ways others can’t."

Aricia blinked, confused by the depth of her mother’s words.

"I… I don’t understand what that means, Mama," she admitted shyly.

Queen Witherlock laughed softly, her hand stroking her daughter’s hair.

"That’s alright, my little one. You’ll understand when you’re older." She kissed Aricia on the forehead. "For now, it’s time for you to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, and I’ve planned a feast in your honor."

Reluctantly, Aricia clambered back into bed, still clutching the leather-bound book to her chest. Her mother’s gentle hands tucked the blanket up around her shoulders as she hummed a lullaby, her voice soft and sweet. The familiar melody wrapped around Aricia like a warm blanket, lulling her deeper into sleep.

As her mother sang, little Aricia mumbled sleepily, her eyelids heavy.

"When I write a book… you’ll be the first to read it," she promised, her voice barely a whisper.

Her mother chuckled softly, her eyes filled with love.

"Indeed," she whispered back. "If not me, who else?"

As Aricia’s breathing deepened and she drifted into a peaceful slumber, Queen Witherlock sat beside her for a moment longer, watching her daughter sleep. The moonlight spilled through the window now, bathing the room in a cool, silver glow.

A thought crossed the queen’s mind, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I think I just found a name for my book," she whispered to herself, her gaze softening as she looked down at her daughter. "Aricia. That’s the name."

And as the lullaby’s final notes faded into the quiet night, Aricia slept soundly.