Daughter of Darkness

Chapter 3

Willow and I spend a minute holding each other before a groan sends us scrambling apart.

"Father!" I rush to his side, helping him sit up as he stirs, a hand pressed to the cut on his brow.

"What happened?" he mutters, looking around in obvious confusion.

"Careful; don't sit up too quickly," I say, noting how pale he looks. The blood on his head is an angry red slash against his colorless skin. "You must have gotten hit by something in the windstorm last night. Willow and I found you unconscious outside this morning and brought you in."

While I'm talking, Father seems to come to his senses a little more, looking around and taking in the state of the house. With every broken window and overturned book, the lines in his face get deeper.

"You should probably be embarrassed that your daughters managed to carry you into the house." I'm desperately attempting to be lighthearted in an attempt to combat the sadness I can see taking over his face. "You should probably start letting me cook your dinners from now on."

I don't think he even hears me.

"Father?" Willow sits down next to him, taking his hand in hers gently. "It looks bad now but we can fix it. Talia and I will help you."

"Thank you, darling," he mutters, patting her on the hand. "I'm just relieved to see you aren't injured. I can fix the house, but my girls are irreplaceable."

His statement would warm my heart more if it wasn't so hollow. If his eyes didn't tell me just how much it hurts him to see Mother's things lying on the floor, battered and broken.

Willow and I start cleaning up the house, righting shelves and sweeping glass shards, working in silence. But as we go to pick up the books scattered on the ground, Father gently ushers us into our room, reminding us that we have to get ready for our morning deliveries.

I don't want to go, still shaken and confused from the night before. But as Father bends over and picks up one of Mother's beloved books, trying to smooth the crumpled pages, tears in his eyes, I understand that he needs time to himself. This house is all he has left of her.

Our room hasn't been spared from the wind, so I pull on the first pair of trousers and tunic that I find on the floor, briskly shaking them free of glass and debris. I quickly run a brush through my hair, pulling it back into a dark braid.

I've got Father's thick hair, so dark of a brown that it almost looks black, and his gray blue eyes. Willow, of course, got Mother's looks, from her icy blonde hair and clear blue eyes, to her delicate waifish frame. Sometimes, I see Willow out of the corner of my eye and my breath will catch, just for a second, thinking she's Mother. I know Father does it too, I've watched him turn away from her so she can't see the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

Willow gets dressed quickly, her back to me, shoulders hunched in. The bones of her hips and spine jut out from her body, covered quickly by a worn blue day dress. She notices me looking but turns away quickly, hiding her face and thoughts from me again.

______________

Making our way into town takes longer than usual, as Willow and I have to climb over fallen trees every few minutes, a reminder of the damage the storm did. Perhaps even what the monster did. It's seems like too large of a coincidence that on the night of the biggest storm we've had in recent memory, it just so happens to show up. I don't believe in coincidences like that. I'm nervous to see town and send a quick prayer to the gods as we walk, that no one has been injured.

"The town will be fine," Willow says, as if she can read my mind. Gods, she probably can. I wouldn't even be surprised at this point.

I push that thought away quickly, not needing one more thing to worry about this morning. She probably just read it on my face. Mother always called me her open book, as I'd inherited Father's skill of showing every emotion on my face.