The Roads Untraveled

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Freya

(Before Esme's capture.)

The warm soapy water engulfed my hands as I scrubbed the porcelain plate with a sponge, cleaning off the remnants of the dinner I just prepared for my mother and my younger sister who is fifteen, four years younger than me.

My sister Esme strolled into the kitchen bringing the dishes from my mother's room.

"How is she?" I asked referring to my mother, as I looked up in Esme's pale green eyes.

Her bottom lip quivered as her eyes began to fill with tears, "She won't make it through the night. It's time Freya, it crept up on us, and now it's too late."

I pulled my hands out from the water and embraced her into a hug. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Now was not the time for crying, now was the time to be strong.

She sobbed into the nape of my neck and I rubbed my hands soothingly on her back. When I pulled away, I gave her shoulders a light squeeze in reassurance.

"Deep breath Ezzie, have you said your goodbyes?" I picked up the porcelain plates and placed them into the assigned cupboard.

"I...y-yes...I did." She stuttered, tripping on her words. She took in a deep breath and wiped the tears from underneath her sad eyes.

"Why don't you finish up the silverware, while I go and check on mother." I suggested and she gave a small nod in response.

I turned on my heels and walked towards the door frame of the kitchen that led into our compact living room.

Before I exited the kitchen completely I turned back to look at Esme. Her shoulders slouched as she continued washing the dishes.

I knew this was hard for her and it would be hard for me too, but my mother spent a fair amount of time toughening me up and preparing me for this day.

Crying wasn't allowed when Esme came along, or when my dad was executed, and definitely not when my mother got sick.

I don't think I've really, truly cried since the age of ten. All the spankings and beatings I would receive from crying finally sunk into my brain and I gave it up, no matter how hard times got.

However, the scars still remain scattered all over my back from when my father would beat me and my mother. We always protected little Esme, and for that he would beat us with his leather belt.

I knocked on the wooden door that led into my mothers room awaiting response to enter.

"Come...in." Her voice came out into a hoarse whisper, and her breathing had become very slow and labored.

She slowly lifted her eyelids up to look at me, she reached for my hand and I quickly grabbed onto hers as I kneeled down beside her bed.

"You shall have nothing to be fearful of when the time comes, I will handle everything." I whispered as she slowly blinked. Time was beginning to slip away faster, we all knew that.

"Th...thank you darling," she softly spoke and did her best to give a smile, "you...have been so...strong. I've never...b..been more proud."