"Please," I whispered. "Don't make me choose."
He sighed, turning his body to walk away.
"Don't make me choose, because in every situation, and every lifetime without a doubt, I will choose you, Arthur Morgan."
Arthur Morgan x female!original chara...
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I don't remember much about my mother, or the life I once knew.
I know she was a beautiful woman; her hair the color of a raven's wings, with forest green eyes.
We lived on a small homestead nestled in the northern snow capped mountains. Every morning, my mother would tend to the chickens and goats as the frost coated the grass, and my breath came out in icy puffs. She was a hard working woman, rising before the sun.
My father was an intimidating man. He stood tall, with broad shoulders. He was a soldier, barely ever home, and when he was, a bottle was always enclosed in his fist. He was a gruff man, who never spoke in a tone lower than a shout, his tongue as sharp as the hits either mother or I endured.
One thing I do remember was the day they took her from me.
It was the same morning as it always was except this time she let me help her tend to the animals. Father wasn't home so she enjoyed my help even though I was only five years old. I always had a love for the gentle creatures. We had a stout Belgian draft - Maple I think her name was. I loved brushing through her long blonde mane while my mother spread the feed to the chickens as they shuffled at her feet.
They came without warning; their horses feet thundered loudly, like they knew exactly where to go, like they had been watching us.
I remember seeing the guns pointed at us as they demanded my mother for money. All we had to our name was the animals, my father being the one who took care of the money and he wasn't even there to protect us.
I cried when they took Maple away.
I cried when they took away the goats and chickens.
They destroyed our home, and before they left they shot her and set our house ablaze.
Why they left me behind I'll never know. Maybe to tell my father what happened when he came home, but he never did. I assume he was lost to the war but I'll never truly know.
I remember the blood that fell from my mother's chest. It pooled beneath her too fast for my tiny hands to stop it. I sat there with her head in my lap until she took her last breath.
The fire licked at the walls and I clung to my mother's dead body that laid in the grass. More men came to our home, but they spoke with gentle voices and didn't hold a gun to my head.
I still don't know why they came to my home that day.
The man with soft hazel eyes and graying-blond hair was the one to convince me to ride with them. I was scared and didn't know what else to do, but I trusted him. The man with hair almost as dark as my mother's told me I would be safe with them.
Hosea taught me how to read, Dutch taught me how to shoot. Arthur taught me to hunt. This gang became my family. I was born to a simple woman who lived quietly, caring for gentle creatures and was raised to be an Outlaw who shot first, asked questions later.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if my mother hadn't died and my father came home. But sometimes, I think I was meant to find these people and stick by them.
