A body clambered. A hand reached. A window opened. A young man skulked. A knife was drawn. A bed was found, but its sheets were empty, as empty as the boy's eyes.
Mer spun around, alerted by rustling fabric, his hand firmly gripping his dagger. As he took a deep breath, the earthy smell of soil intermingled with the gentle scent of lavender wafting from a vase on the windowsill.
"Ahh, so you've come." came the voice of a frail old woman with wispy white hair pulled tightly in a bun. She wore a simple cotton dress, stained by a few splotches of dirt, and sat in a high-backed chair, her eyes fixed on Mer with an unwavering gaze, her tone calm and measured.
"You knew I was coming?"
"Mmm, I may be aging, but I am not yet senile. My family attracts many visitors like you... Such is our fate. Though I tire of dealing with them, so would you instead care to join this old lady for a chat?"
Mer approached her cautiously, his eyes darting around the room for danger. The room was elegant but cluttered, with long red velvet curtains and floral-patterned cream walls speckled with paintings. The old woman gestured for him to sit opposite her in the cherry wood chair.
"If you knew I was coming, why didn't you prepare an ambush? Surely you have the means to do so?" Mer asked, his tone tense and guarded.
"What's the point? I've already had a long life, and surely another assassin will follow if I kill you. Anyway, you're more interesting than most," she remarked, her voice steeped with wisdom.
The woman poured some tea into fine porcelain cups, her movements slow and graceful. The calming aroma of chamomile filled the room as soft classical music played in the background. "Tea, dear?" she asked, holding a cup towards him.
Mer eyed the cup suspiciously, unsure if he should trust the old woman. "No thanks," came his curt reply.
"You seem to have a better understanding of life than most people your age," the woman said, sipping her tea. "Tell me, what have you seen in your short life to make you so jaded?"
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mer paused before answering. His eyes flickered to the vase of withered roses on the table beside him. "I've seen suffering, endured loss, and caused too much pain," he replied softly. "I've seen how even the kindest people can become monsters."
"Hmmm, I remember when I was your age," she began, her voice distant. "I was still filled with hope and dreams. But, as you probably already know, life can snatch those things away from you. I lost my husband and son," she said, her voice catching slightly at the last word.
Mer knew all too well what it felt like to lose someone dear. "I'm sorry for your losses," he said softly.
The woman shook her head. "Don't be. You had no hand in it, and we were not innocent either. But what about you? I see you take no pleasure in your work; what makes you persist? Is it a dream?"
"I don't know. I simply want my sister to be happy and someday earn my freedom. But, for now, this is the only way I can keep her safe."
"I see; you're a good brother."
"It doesn't always feel that way," Mer admitted as his eyes flitted toward the rain.
"Character is not tested in the tranquil waters of comfort but in the turbulent tempests of adversity. Family is not a refuge from the rain but a bond that grows stronger in the wettest hours. You have proven to be a better brother than most, but regardless, the night grows late. Could you please tell this old lady a story before I depart?"
Arching a brow, Mer inquired, "Why?"
The woman smiled wistfully. "I simply want to hear something joyful."
Hesitating, Mer sieved through his past of pain and heartache until am memory finally flickered to the surface of his mind, like a candle flame igniting in the darkness.
He settled on a story about when his mother took him and his siblings to the capital, about the colorful street performers, tantalizing food, and infectious laughter. Mer's words spilled forth like a rushing river, and as he became fully engrossed in the nostalgia of his past, his attention toward the old lady slowly slipped away.
As he finished his tale, Mer finally noticed the woman's eyes were closed; her frail body slumped back in her chair. The teacup had slipped from her hand and now lay empty upon the plush carpet.
Mer got up to feel her pulse, but he already knew what had happened… She had poisoned herself. From his intel, he knew Sasha wasn't the benevolent woman she appeared to be. He could tell she had grown tired of life… However, he could also feel a strange warmth from her eyes. Perhaps she saw some of her son in Mer; perhaps she wanted to spare him the burden of her death.
On the table lay a note written with a shaky hand.
Thank you for the story Mer. I wanted to leave this world on a happy note, and you allowed that. Please don't blame yourself. I understand more than most that sacrifices must be made to protect those you love. Please look after Sova for me. She should be in my bedroom along with a gift my son left behind. It's yours now. I wish you luck with your dream, and if you ever receive the opportunity, find and kill the person who destroyed my family.