Smoke On The Water | 18+

Chapter 23

Word Count: 2,802

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A/N: It's a long chapter, and we're nearing the end the book. Please vote and/or comment if you're enjoying it, so far! I love all of you, and thanks for reading.

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"Eat up, girl. You look malnourished." Greta tells me, her wrinkled face twisting with concern.

Needles to say, I'm a bit on edge considering I just poisoned my captor's food. My appetite hasn't reappeared yet.

"I'm just not feeling too well." I tell her honestly. She places her warm, fragile hand on top of mine on her dinner table.

"Rest then, dear. I'm sure you've been through a lot." She says somberly. She pats my hand, and collects my plate of untouched chicken and rice, and sets it stop the counter.

I thank her, despite my lack of eating, and head to the room she's so kindly allowing me to stay in.

Free of charge, might I add.

When I asked her why, she only told me that God had told her that helping me was the right thing to do.

I want to believe her, but I don't know if God really likes me.

I want to trust her, but I am beyond terrified.

Greta is a tiny old lady, with beautiful white hair and a soft demeanor. She is the town seamstress. The bottom floor of this building is her sewing shop, and above that is the apartment we're currently residing in. It's small, but very cozy.

It seems to have a lingering fragrance of cinnamon, which is oddly calming.

I strip myself of my black clothes, and attempt to take this all in. Greta said that in order to keep myself from drawing unwanted attention, I should dress as a widow- mourning the loss of her husband. I was to dress in all black and keep my face veiled.

Luckily for me, she made clothes for a living. So I now have a few dresses and veils to keep myself safe.

I bundle under the quilt she made and try to close my eyes, but I can only think of Mangas.

Mostly memories of us. Some good, and some bad. But every once in a while, I imagine his body amongst the rest back in the village.

My chest feels painfully hollow, but it's like my tear ducts are broken.

I wish I could cry. I wish I could get some of this feeling out of me. But for some reason, I just can't. So I stare out the small window at the empty sky.

Please be alive. I pray.

Please.

I sigh heavily, and try to close my eyes again.

It's a vicious cycle, really.

This goes on for around a week.

Greta sends me to the general store for random things during the day, and I take some time to look for where my people hid the dynamite.

Every day, I return to her shop defeated. The way I see it, this is my only chance to get actual revenge. But now it's not only for myself, but for the tribe.

While my motives were selfish at first, it goes so much deeper now. I wanted to kill Meredith and all of the sick fucks in this town, for hurting me for so long.

Now, the government has basically declared war on the First Nations, and I don't plan to go gently. If I can detonate a single tube of dynamite, it will cause a chain reaction, and blow the whole town to bits.