The Tale of Dame Elysse

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The night was quiet, but Elysse's mind was far from peaceful. Lying on the cold, hard floor of the ruined house she now called shelter, she fell into a restless sleep. But sleep offered no escape, only the torment of memories that refused to fade.

In her dreams, she was back in the grand halls of the Casa, once filled with laughter and warmth. The sun streamed through the high windows, but the scene quickly shifted into darkness.

A loud crash echoed in her mind. The doors of the Casa had been thrown open, traitors flooding in like a storm. She saw her eldest daughter, Estella, dragged away by rough hands.

"Let her go!" Elysse had screamed, her voice breaking. Estella's cries filled the air, her small hands reaching out for her mother.

"Please!" Elysse begged, falling to her knees. "She's just a child!"

But her pleas were ignored. The men dragged Estella away, their mocking laughter ringing in Elysse's ears. Her heart shattered as she heard one of them sneer, "She'll make a fine toy."

The scene shifted again, this time to the kitchen. She was on her knees, holding a tray of tea. The leader of the traitors stood before her, his cold eyes watching her every move.

"It's bland," he growled, spitting the tea onto the floor.

"I-I'm sorry," Elysse stammered, trembling.

Without warning, Damien, her brave second-born, was brought into the room. His hands were tied, his face bruised.

"This is your punishment," the man sneered, pulling out a dagger.

"No! Please!" Elysse screamed, lunging forward. But she was held back by the traitors, forced to watch as the dagger plunged into her son's chest. His wide eyes met hers, filled with pain and apology, before he fell lifeless to the ground.

Her screams echoed in the dreamscape, and the scene changed again. This time, she stood at the gates of the Casa. Her youngest, little Amara, hung there, her small body lifeless, swinging gently in the breeze.

The traitors had heard of her husband's revolt and took revenge on the family. Amara's lifeless form was a message, a warning.

Elysse fell to her knees, her hands clawing at the ground. She couldn't scream anymore. She had no voice left.

And then came the final memory, the one that broke her.

Her husband, her rock, stood in the middle of the village square. His clothes were torn, his dignity stripped away. The people he had fought for watched in silence as he was humiliated.

"Take her away," he had ordered the loyal servants who tried to save her.

"No! I can't leave you!" she had cried, struggling against their grip.

His tired eyes found hers, and he smiled, a soft, loving smile, as if to tell her everything would be okay. He mouthed the words, "Be strong."