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CHAPTER EIGHT ✧ RUPTURED SOULS ✧
" I feel out of focus, or at least indisposed as this strange weather pattern inside me takes hold. "
— sorrow.sleeping at last. —
━━━━━━✧━━━━━━
SWEAT CLUNG TO THE STRAY HAIRSaround her forehead, the little ones that managed to escape her tousled braid. The girl pulled her burgundy hood away from her face, allowing it to rest on her shoulders next to the quiver slung across her shoulders. In her left hand were her bow and a sack of freshly caught carcasses.
The girl could not have been older than ten, yet she carried herself like a hunter, familiar with the foliage called a forest. She hunted for food for her family, but to her, it was no chore. In fact, there was a smile on her face as she trekked closer to her home.
She loved to hunt. She loved archery— the sensation of wielding a bow, the release she felt every time she let an arrow fly. She loved the solitude of the woods, the breeze that would chime the foliage. It was acres of mystery and quite possibly miles without other human life, but she never felt lonely. The woods held precious memories to her, especially ones of her parents.
The girl eventually made it home, turning the knob of her door and setting her bow by the wall. She dropped the sack right beside it, and she excitedly called out, "Dad, guess what I caught today?"
She wandered into the kitchen, where her father would usually prepare dinner at this hour, but the place was empty.
"Dad?"
She searched the rest of her home. Perhaps, her father was in their shared bedroom at the back, but as she approached the end of their home, she heard voices coming from outside.
"You work for a king who strives for order and peace, and yet, he encourages death amongst his people. What good are you working for?"
She recognized her father's voice from their backyard, although she was confused. No doubt, he had company, but he mentioned a king. Where they lived, no monarch reigned their land.
She stepped outside, the back door creaking in the process.
"Dad?"
Bloodied and bruised, her father was held down to his knees by two soldiers in white, a stark contrast to her father's beaten condition. There were two other soldiers in front of him, one holding a sword in his hand.
"Dad, wh-what's..." She stuttered, slowly took a step forward.
The man's face paled at the sight of his child, all the blood draining from his skin and a mortified look in his eyes.
