Ch8: The fates

The footsteps of her father trod heavily across the floor, the creaking of the wood made odd sounds in the night. Sounds that woke her from her sleep. She had been accustomed to her mother moving about in the middle of the night. Her sobbing filled her life with sorrow. She hated that part of her. She wasn’t like this before and her father never was around for her. She wanted this life to end, she wanted her parents back. Her father used to play with her in the courtyard. He would take her shopping in the evening and would tell her stories of her mother and everything that she did for the community. Her mother was the most loving person she ever saw. Both stern and compassionate, she always felt that she had a place. Now, things were different.

The footsteps stopped in the bedroom, the creaking of the bed frame gave her some clue as to what was going on. She remembered this part. “Too young” she thought to herself. These are the things her parents used to do, but her father was never home anymore, but her father is home?

She softly got out of bed, her long nightgown draping on the floor. She crept down the stairs to where she heard her parents, it was soft sounds, gentle sounds that were suddenly pierced by a loud scream. She stopped for a second not knowing what to do. Her mind worked over what was happening, but her body reacted. Suddenly she found herself in full sprint to her parents’ bedroom, she heard her mother gasping. When she entered she saw her father on top of her, both hands around her neck, blood was everywhere. In the corner, she saw the dagger that her mother kept on her night stand. It was a gift from her father so that she would always be safe. Quickly, she reached for it and held it as she was trained. Years of training led the girl of only twelve to to swiftly insert the blade just upward of the middle of the back. Right in the middle. Right where the heart was. Kill your enemy, or they will kill you.

At that moment her father arched his back and fell over the edge of the bed. She quickly went to her mother, who’s eyes were blankly staring at the ceiling. She made no sound, she did not move. Magdaline held her mother’s hand and begged her to say something.

In her tears, she heard the gasping of her father, who was still on the floor. She went to him, she only saw hatred for the man who killed her mother. She was trained that on the battlefield, you hate your enemy. They never trained her for when her father was the enemy.

Falros was gasping for air. He tried lifting his head but only got a few inches off the ground as his mouth contorted as he tried to speak. Drool and blood spattered from his lips. His eyes looking directly at his daughter. An eternal moment where she saw the last of his love for her flitter away replaced by something. As she continued to stare into his eyes, she saw some burning purple symbol. The symbol grew and grew until it was all she saw in the room. And with that, it faded into nothing. She heard the last gasp of her father before the dull thud on the floor.

Within moments, the constables arrived and broke down the door to get inside. They were alerted by people who knew Falros, and asked why he had blood over his shirt, but he never stopped. It seemed with singular purpose that he was to kill his wife and child that night. If the child was not trained, she would have easily wound up like her mother. No one knew why Falros murdered his wife.