ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀ ꜱᴘᴇʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

02

It was evening when father came home. He brought me a cake. "So, how did you like your gift?" I nodded with my mouth full. "Great, a little strange as a gift for a daughter but thank you, really." He looked into his plate. So did I. "It's from someone else, I should just give it to you." A strange feeling overcame me.
Lost in thoughts, I chewed on my cake and thought about the note, that was next to the dagger. I prefer not to ask father about it, because apparently he already knew who it was from.
My cheeks turned red when I thought of a secret admirer, a secret lover. There were many of them in my books, but it has never been a prince. In any case, no one called themselves a prince. I flushed again, tried not to look at my father.
It was quiet again while I was eating. "Where were you? I thought today was a special day," I finally managed to say. "I had to clarify some things, Anabelle. I'm sorry." I took his words to know, but didn't think much about it, because Father never felt sorry for anything.
That was just him. And I guess that is something I got from him. He brought his hand to his hair and ran trough it, looking just as tired as the other days.
"Soon everything will be different," he said and he sounded relieved. With these words, he went into his study and I went to the stairs of the old house to get ready for bed.

I laid in my bed for hours, the blade in the bag under my pillow. And at some point, I also fell asleep and actually slept better than ever before.

Father was gone in the last few days, left me tasks and let me write texts, I had to solve tasks over and over and read books. It was a Friday when he came back. He looked tired, nothing from his appearance changed. "Hello daughter," the only greeting I got.
We both sat in front of the fireplace. It seemed to me, as if my father wanted to tell me something.
Something important.
His facial expression betrayed more than usual, my father looked into the fire again and again, the flames reflected in his eyes. I got tired, my hands hurt from all the writing. "I'm going to sleep," I said. "Wait," said my father, "I want you to know that I'm happy to have you as a daughter, I'll tell you far too little." Silently, I looked at the man who had raised me, turned towards the stairs and climbed the steps. "Thank you" was all I got squeezed out of myself before I completely turned away from him. It felt like a goodbye, a sad and not meaning goodbye. Only if I knew it actually would be a goodbye, for a time longer than forever.