Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
By the handsome Swan Manor, there was a family grave. The family had counted too many dead than any religious graveyard in the town could bury.
At times when she felt lonely, Darya would go to grave, sitting there by the flowers, reciting poetry she had memorized for the dead. The stones in front of her engraved the names of her father, uncle, grandfather, and great-grandfather. Six feet below her, they laid, rotting. It reminded her that her last name was a curse.
Blood. Fright. Bodies. It all belonged to the Swans' honey-sweet tones. Simple words and beautiful songs would lead to love. Affection and lust would lead to death. It was a wonder how they had not gone mad yet, watching everyone they held in their shaking hands turn to dirt and dust.
The men cried; the men suffered; the men died. Water filled their lungs, and everything the Swans could do was hope that the ocean would carry their souls with the waves.
Darya wailed and broke. She had to live without love, being careful around everyone. She wanted no blood on her hands. No deaths in her name. She told it to them — the bodies lying under the ground — and cried and cried and cried.
Death is your friend — not one to fear. Death told her that herself. Death rounds us all up, sets us free, helps us start a new chapter. Death is only cruel to those around you. She won't hurt you — but your parents, friends, and children. You must not seek her. When she is needed, she will come, and you will not fear. Until then, you keep your course true.
The Swans weren't afraid of Death anymore. They kissed Death on the mouth every night, caressing her black wings. She was going to give them peace one day, but until then, she would only gift them pain by killing the men they loved.
Darya's knuckles were dug deep into the ground, now. She was filled with gentle anger. Her last name was a curse, but dear God, did it give her tears and grief of beauty.
"Darya?"
She turned. Behind her stood her sister with tears running down her cheeks. Her hair and blue dress were soaking wet, and she was shivering.
"Valerie? Where have you been?" Darya got to her feet and brushed off dirt on her dress. "Mum has been looking for you for days!"
"I'm sorry," Valerie answered, whimpers escaping her. "I did something bad..."
Fear ran through Darya as she stepped forward, trying to look for any injuries or broken bones.
"He saw it. He found me. Tom. He said he was your friend."
Darya rushed forward, grabbing her sister by the wrists, not letting her go. It was an act of concern, and she hated it. "What did you do, Valerie?"
And she pointed toward the ocean.
"He said he knew what I had done and that he was going to-"
"WHAT DID YOU DO?"
Valerie broke, falling into Darya's arms. "I did what Cordelia told us about before I left." She sobbed loudly. "I swam to the sailors and sang."
