2 Death At Midnight- Part One
Music Recommendation: Quiet Woods/Nighttime by Peder B. Helland
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Year 1848.
On one of the early hours of the incipient evening, in the streets of Aetherwatch - a local village in the western Empire of Heathmoor. The sky hung above the engaging street lowly when suddenly the clouds blanketing its entirety crackled a boisterous rumble.
As these abrupt sounds of the thunder's matter-of-fact waves and flashes of light reached the ears and eyes of those that populated the land, thence, they knew they had to get their markets wrapped up from the predicted shipwreck that'd cause a miserable loss and quickly retrieve back to their respective homes.
The evening had narrowly become a cold wallflower, melting with the moon appearing as dark as the skeleton's grave. The lampposts which were dimly lit down the street, flickered dubiously. The thick cobblestone roads were besmeared with disease-ridden specks of dirt, littered about by the fierce wind, at the blink of becoming a hurricane.
Merchants and shopkeepers with capitalist sentiments had brusquely packed their dirtily-expensive items which were more valuable in terms of money. Around the corner, Mothers who scoured around for their children and eventually found them towed the kids into their arms akin to a mother-hen, while the rest who failed to could only break out a skirmish for their fruits to dock safely to them. Thus, annihilation, incognizance, and banging were not deterred.
Aetherwatch wasn't a safe niche for minors to wander off, especially as the rate toll of death amongst the children had grown larger just recently.
Basking upon the near storm, a duo of cinnamon mice whisked across the stone cobbles and rushed to the underground ally by the south of the street. Another pair was seen lapping hungrily on top of the rusted street sign - Aetherwatch - hanging off a corner shadowy by gas lamps. The fitful flickers of these gas lamps due to the stormy wind made the street dimmer and unrecognizably ghostly.
Markets and shops have been shut down. Locals away from the unceremonious drizzles of the rain and upcoming storm into their distributive homes. Nothing lived on the street anymore, apart from the medium-sized rodents.
Suddenly, a bolt of lightning thrashed unto the sky and thunderstruck, approximately, at another time. Far off, in the street, a pair of mice rammed out of their hideouts to others for coverage.
Shortly afterward, the downpour started that early evening and continued through the night, a torrential rain pouring down outrageously and ceaselessly into the land of Aetherwatch. As drops whipped the ground of the town, a heavy pelting of water thundered against rooftops, sparing not a single home.
Also, in the heart of the local village, some distance away stood massive thick redwood trees - a barricade to the street - hover disastrously out of proportion induced by the wind, and with which either way turned wizen because of the storm. This storm was relatively decisive and unstoppable.
Amidst this storm, inside the cottage of one of the villagers. A dance of candle flame is caught through the window of the average dwelling. And there was a peaceful family, eating their dinner - two loaves of bread and a fresh fish, combined with a cup of milk extracted from their last bred cow. A young girl, about the age of eleven, was clapping her hands heartily, after the night prayer composed by her mother. This girl's blonde hair coursed down to her waist, as they tapered roughly behind her back due to the breeze.
The long-winded rain battered strongly outside their small hearth and seemed to have a mind of its own as it hammered on their rooftop, forcefully and the two wooden window shutters which were tightly shut by the girl's mother, erstwhile, were separated powerfully, letting fog droplets wet the surface of the floor.
When this happened, the girl's mother, a blue-eyed and honey-blonde-haired woman, approached the window, forsaking the brown shawl covering her shoulders - whereupon flaunted off her full-rounded breasts that peeked out of the cleavage from the lithe chiffon nightgown she had worn. Ignoring the sight, she precipitously went toward the windows to close them back up again for fear of their home being flooded. While at it, the beautiful woman of a lovely appearance and porcelain skin craned her neck as she looked out of the shutters to the catastrophe forming outside their home. The hurricane had destroyed lots of shops and was now swinging the punier stall of a close friend. At least they were quick to arrange the loaves in the bakery and retreat earlier than others. Thought the woman, exhaling a deep sigh of relief.
She believed bad things eventually led to good ones.
"Mama, it's becoming cold" The child soon complained, as her legs began shivering.
"Is it, dear? Wait, let me get a blanket for you" Her mother turned and spoke worriedly. After successfully shutting the windows, the honey-blonde-haired woman carried the burning lantern from the table - the only source of rays in their partial living room. But before she exited, she alerted her daughter who always picketed aimlessly, not to move around, while she dashed into her marital room to fetch any considerable cloth that'd provide a haven for the child.
"Here, this should do, Harriet. Mother will help you" The woman appeared, pulling out a thick oversized raffled coat - of a gigantic size, from the room that belonged to her husband. She went over to her daughter and sheltered the girl's body with the warm coat. The little girl was initially wearing a sweater over her nightgown that the woman had seamed herself but she guessed the cold was too strong.
Making sure the little one was curtained from the cold, the honey-blonde-haired woman walked deftly across the oval dining table, in circles, with the burning lantern in her hand. She headed toward the center of the room, where the dead logs of wood were implanted inside the fireplace. Her radiant face turned dour in no time, as she stretched her other hand which was empty to the pocket she had stitched into the nightgown herself, and jerked out a tyrannized envelope - one from the wealthiest as a manor emblem was on the bottom.
She laid her not-kind eyes for the last time on the bold words slightly centered on the bottom half of the envelope 'To my beloved future mistress'.
Having to read that downgrading choice of words between her lips, the woman's eyes withdrew furiously under their brows. There was this bitter taste in her lips - one to which she had been habituated while raking her dead eyes to the envelope. She was not new to such a letter because noble-lords in her town always lusted for her, but never obtained her. Putting that thought behind her mind like it was measly, she brought the lantern loftier toward the envelope that soon caught a blaze.
There'd be a day when she'd disguise as a courtesan and have these shameless men's dicks smashed by a hammer then chopped their disgusting art of breeding like potatoes she made into a pottage and would charitably feed them to the homeless sheep and donkeys outside her doorstep. Not just that as it was not enough, she'd also find shattered glasses, Apple seeds and grind them; mix the combination into their foods until they choked to death. Thought the woman spontaneously and cold-heartedly.
The mere guts they have just so because they have the riches. If they want a breeder that miserably, they could f*** their families, not like she cared.
She was no mistress and would be no one's mistress. The anger was clear in the undertone of her murmurs, whilst she launched the burning envelope to the woods in the fireplace that ignited and began to crackle.
"Dear, come here" Quenching down her anger, the woman called her daughter. Harriet saw her mother fronting the lit fireplace, which burned and glowed with a radiant gold flame. She soon came off the chair gulping down the last milk from the mug, meticulously, and heeded the little gestures of her mother, to get herself warmth.
"Mother, how long will it take before Papa gets back home? It's raining heavily, and it is getting late" Questioned Harriet, staring at her mother with her optimistic dark-grey eyes. The girl might look too young, but she understood the occupation of her father.
He was a baker. Not just any ordinary person.
One that supplied fresh loaves of bread to the nobles. Sometimes they could demand lots more during events of banquets, birthday parties, or even the silliest merrymaking. Even if he were to become under the weather, it still was his job to provide them with loaves of bread, simply because it was his duty. His job wasn't an easy one in the town.
Harriet knew about this and was sad about her father's hard work as a result of the dire need for money to heal her ailment.
If only she wasn't sick!
Early this Thursday morning, he had to deliver a hundred pieces of bread to the house of one of the lords. Yet, he failed to be home early. It was a first.
Harriet was unhappy because she missed her father. Lately, he was so distantly busy, absent, and didn't have enough time for her and her mother. She couldn't help feeling depressed. She hated the changes. She hated that before she went to bed, he'd not read to her the bedtime stories.
"Mama, I want Father to put me to sleep" The girl asserted, looking up to her mother again, who even was in an uncompromising situation. The blue-eyed woman gazed into the charred wood, burning golden-red flames - her reflection spurring as she thought of the condition of her husband. She had been feeling uncomfortable, since the moment he had baked those breads to deliver, mainly because the Lord's house he was taking the packages wasn't trustworthy. There was this discomfort squeezing at the back of her mind, making her feel insecure.
But, being hopeful and plausible of his safety, she informed;
"Dear, your father will be home late today. Why don't I read to you the story of the monster and the princess? Hmm?" The woman mused, sticking her daughter's hand further into the fire, but at a safe distance, and giving them a little rub. Though she sweet-talked to the little girl, she was sure her daughter would continue to pester her about her husband again.
Harriet was wildly troublesome and naughty, yet lovable. The woman chuckled.
At the same time, a ferocious whistled breeze blew past them and turned the fire from the fireplace off, leaving only the faint light coming from the lantern on top of the table. Marinette sighed deeply as it was the fifth time the fire took off.
"But, I want Father's good night kiss" Harriet pouted, her eyes downcasted "Why is Father not here? He never misses the good night kiss" She argued sulkingly.
"He loves me too much to fail me" The little girl further added indisputably
Marinette had expected this reaction.
Harriet loved her father a little too much. She wondered if it was because she was his carbon copy at everything or because he pampered her excessively. Whatever the reason, Marinette hoped her child would listen to her and get to bed as it was getting late, and the rain outside was too strong and appeared to not stop at any time. She feared her daughter's ailment could worsen by the contagious cold.
So, she raked her brain for a plan.
"Dear, remember the gigantic fire breather? The one that takes naughty children!! If Harriet doesn't fall asleep, the brutal animal will...Grrrh!! Roar!!" Marinette growled, making use of her hands to gesture to the sharp teeth of the imaginary animal. She knowingly passed over the girl's chest, sticking the assumed teeth at the chest, and pushing forward to her face.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. Mama" Harriet laughed cheesily, falling to the ground, as her mother continued to playmate with her.
"Grrrh! Grrrh! Sleep is inevitable. Little Harriet must take a nice good rest" Marinette smiled.
At the back of her mind, she prayed "I hope you are doing well, Gabriel"
Please be safe, for me and our only child.
Under the damp sky waxing enthusiastic and tremendous rain, in the lone street of Aetherwatch, two sweet harmonious laughter reverberated in a certain house, while the moon casted out a shadow on the small home as it became blurry.
