Vengeance Through Passion

The last words my mother said to me were, Till death do us part.

***

For the longest time, Aricia never believed her mother was truly gone. A part of her clung to the hope that, somehow, some way, her mother would return. In the quiet moments of the night, when the world was still and shadows danced on the walls, she could almost hear her mother’s laughter echoing through the halls, soft and sweet. But as the days turned to weeks, that comforting sound faded, and the memory of that final phrase became a haunting refrain. Now, doubt crept in like a cold wind, and she feared her mother was truly gone—beyond the reach of life, beyond the realm of her imagination.

Her plan was simple: once she was retrieved to Unagi, she would take back what was rightfully hers—the life she had been denied, the legacy that had been stolen from her. But even that dream, once clear and unwavering, had become elusive, slipping through her fingers like sand. The weight of reality pressed down on her shoulders, suffocating the once-burning fire of ambition within.

Standing by a stone path, Aricia tossed small rocks against the ground, each throw punctuating her frustration. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the market square, where merchants called out to passersby, their voices mingling in a cacophony of life. But to Aricia, it all felt distant, a world that continued to move while she stood still. As she flung another stone, her gaze caught sight of Caelric in the distance, speaking to a task collector with a furtive intensity. His features, typically so open and carefree, were shadowed with concern. He mounted a horse, his silhouette framed against the fading light, and rode away, leaving her with a multitude of questions that had no answers.

Across the street, two stall owners were engaged in a heated discussion. A tea seller, hunched over his wares, leaned closer to the other, his voice thick with suspicion. "Take her away!" he barked, his words laced with disdain as he pointed toward a young girl sprawled on the ground, her small form barely discernible among the debris. "I think she's possessed!"

"She’s only but a little child," the other stall owner replied, his voice steady, though edged with concern.

"A girl child," the tea seller retorted, his tone dripping with scorn. "No girl from a decent home would be laid out here like this, in such disgraceful manner. She’s wild, feral—she’d be better off as a maid at my cabin. It’s not like anyone would claim a possessed girl."

The girl, no older than nine, stood up slowly, her movements uncertain and fragile. Dust clung to her torn, tattered gown—once white, now stained with grime and dirt. The fabric hung loosely around her small frame, frayed at the edges and smudged with the remnants of the streets she had wandered. Her hair, matted and tangled, fell limply around her face, concealing her features. Aricia noted the bruises that mottled her arms, hints of a life lived in neglect or worse. The girl’s bare feet were caked in filth, each step an indication of her struggles. She looked as though she had been abandoned by the world, lost in a realm that had forgotten her existence.

Aricia felt a tug deep within her, an instinctive urge to protect this fragile creature. Perhaps it was pity, or a spark of recognition in the child’s desolate state that resonated with her own sense of loss. For a brief moment, she hesitated, uncertainty gripping her heart. But before she could fully process her thoughts, Madame Freya appeared, her presence cutting through the tension like a knife.

"She is no possessed child," Freya declared, her voice authoritative, drowning out the whispers of the onlookers. "She belongs to Lireal. Go on now, everyone, and mind your business. This girl is not your concern."

With that, Freya reached for the girl, her grip firm but gentle. Yet the child recoiled, her small body trembling as muffled groans escaped her lips. After a few moments of struggle, the girl did something unexpected—she bit down hard on Freya’s hand and darted away, a blur of desperation.

Aricia acted on instinct. She lunged forward, capturing the girl in her arms before she could vanish into the sea of feet and faces. The child squirmed against her, but Aricia held her tightly, cradling the trembling form as she carried her toward the safety of the cottage, Freya following closely behind.

Once inside, Freya shut the door with a sigh, the click of the latch echoing in the small space. "Who is this child?" she asked, rubbing the spot where the girl had bitten her. "She gives me chills."

"I thought you said—" Aricia began, but she trailed off, a silent understanding passing between them. The air felt charged, heavy with unspoken truths.

"I don’t understand what’s happening these days," Aricia admitted, pacing the dimly lit room. "Everything has been so quiet and peaceful until… First, my missing gloves—"

"Those ugly things?" Freya interjected, her tone dismissive. She sank into a chair, her posture relaxed despite the tension that hung in the air. "You should be grateful you lost them. Always wondered why you kept wearing such hideous gloves."

Aricia ignored her, shaking her head in frustration. "Then there’s the uneventful meeting at Lireal, the mages, that sorcerer, the stolen Yazaki, the missing women, the state of emergency. And now this." She paused, catching her breath, her heart racing. "The man from earlier."

"That," Freya replied with a smirk, "is not uneventful. Talk about humiliation. You could have warned me."

Aricia rolled her eyes, irritation bubbling to the surface. "Well, you didn’t give me a chance to speak, dear friend. And don’t hold me accountable for your wild imagination."

Freya raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Judgmental, much? Anyway, where’s the child?"

They both glanced toward the corner where the girl had been. She was still there, but now she was pacing back and forth, her tiny feet shuffling against the wooden floor. She walked into the wall repeatedly, her steps aimless and uncertain. Each collision sent a shiver down Aricia’s spine.

Aricia rushed over, pulling the girl away from the wall. The child stiffened, her body rigid with fear, and then, without warning, she began to cry—loud, heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through the cottage, filling the small space with despair.

"She’s… blind," Aricia finally realized, her voice barely a whisper. The understanding settled over her like a thick fog, and she felt a pang of empathy for the child.

"Obviously," Freya commented, crossing her arms with a knowing look. "I knew the moment you brought her inside. She hasn’t shown any real sense of direction. She was just moving, following the path her body led her."

"But who is she?" Aricia pressed, frowning as she knelt beside the girl. "What if she’s lost? What if her parents are out there looking for her?"

Freya shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "A puzzling question," she mused, her voice trailing off as she seemed lost in her own thoughts. The air grew thick with uncertainty.

"Stop crying," Aricia said softly, trying to soothe the distraught child. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from the girl’s forehead.

Freya clicked her tongue. "Rule number one about cry babies: never tell them to stop crying. Always encourage them, like this." She turned to the girl and said, "Cry, little one. Cry your heart out, but no one will hear."

"Freya, stop it," Aricia snapped, her gaze sharp. She felt a mix of frustration and concern for the child.

"It works like a charm," Freya said with a nonchalant shrug, but Aricia wasn’t so sure. However, to her surprise, the girl’s crying began to subside, her sobs transforming into small whimpers.

"You’re scaring her," Aricia murmured, her heart aching for the girl’s plight.

"And you’re encouraging her," Freya shot back, her tone lightening. "But do you know what the most puzzling question is? Why is the son of one of the most powerful families in history here at Aelaras?"

Aricia frowned, her interest piqued despite herself. "Isn’t it obvious?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "He’s at Lireal, isn’t he?"

Freya smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, not exactly. It’s unprofessional to release customer details, you know."

Aricia waved her off, irritation bubbling to the surface. "I’m not even interested."

Freya leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you want to know a dark secret about the Blackwells?"

At the mention of the name, the little girl stopped crying immediately, as though a switch had been flipped. She turned her head slightly, her expression shifting, as if she sensed something in the air.

Freya’s eyes widened in amusement. "Stories work, too. They stop the crying." But even she looked slightly unsettled by the sudden change in the girl’s demeanor.

"Do you know all five elements have distinguishing abilities?" Freya continued, her tone conspiratorial. "The Spirit Clan are Sorcerers, the Earth Clan are mighty warriors, the Water Clan are mages, the Air Clan are healers, and then there’s Fire… it’s always something missing with them."

Aricia remained silent, reflecting on Freya's words. The Fire Clan had always been shrouded in mystery and rumor. Some whispered that they were gifted with powers beyond comprehension; others spoke of darkness and curses. Yet, despite her curiosity, Aricia found herself hesitant to explore those shadows. What were they really?

"Some say they are werewolves, demons, vampires—the list goes on. But do you know what I truly think?" Freya leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Aricia frowned, her heart pounding in anticipation. "What?"

"They are… ghosts," Freya teased, her voice dripping with mock horror. "Wooooo." She waved her arms in exaggerated fear, but the chill in the air remained palpable.

"That’s why everyone fears them. It’s only natural to fear what you can’t comprehend."

Aricia couldn’t suppress a shiver as the gravity of Freya’s joke settled over them. "That’s ridiculous," she retorted, though her voice lacked conviction. There was an unsettling truth buried beneath the humor.

"Alright, story time’s over," Aricia said, trying to divert the conversation back to the girl. "We’d better find her parents before it’s too late." She turned her attention back to the child, who still seemed lost in her own world. "You must be hungry?" Aricia asked gently, kneeling beside the girl. "What’s your name, little one?"

The girl shifted slightly but remained silent, her eyes, though clouded, seemed to search Aricia’s face with an intensity that felt almost unnatural. For a moment, it felt as if she were looking beyond Aricia’s exterior, peering into her very soul. Aricia held her gaze, determined to break through the wall of silence.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a gust of wind swept into the cottage, causing the curtains to flutter wildly.

***

Author's Note:

Dear esteemed reader,

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