In the secluded lands, deep within the kingdom of Brodian, lay a wild and mysterious territory. This region, nestled within the grip of a stark mountain range, housed an unassuming village. A small community had chosen to make this their home, preferring the tranquility of isolation over the clamor of prosperous cities. It was a place distant from the turmoil of the world, where the echoes of battles and political intrigue became nothing more than distant murmurs.

Here, the houses, hewn from the woods of surrounding forests, seemed to embed themselves into the landscape, amidst cultivated fields and verdant meadows. This place had a rough, raw beauty, almost savage. Streams meandered between hills, sheep grazed peacefully, and the atmosphere was imbued with pure and invigorating air.

Within one of these houses, its thick walls weathered by time lived Yulia. A devoted mother, she tended to her household with sincere affection. This humble dwelling also sheltered her three children and their father Tom, one of the village's blacksmiths.

The flames danced and flickered in the fireplace, casting a mosaic of shimmering shadows upon the rustic walls of the little house. The crackling and sizzling of burning pine wood warmed the room, fending off the biting chill of the night that subtly seeped in through the cracks of the old wooden door. The sun had set long ago and the night had settled in, only the melody of crickets breaking the silence.

There, nestled on a sheepskin with soft hair, little Lily, the youngest of Yulia's daughters, blinked sleepily while resisting sleep. Her round cheeks, painted a rosy hue by the cozy heat of the fire, contrasted with her wide blue eyes, gleaming with a childlike glow.

Her mother sat beside her, gently running her hand through her little one's blond curls. Her gaze, soft and loving, observed the features of her daughter's face that was desperately struggling not to fall into the arms of Morpheus.

Yulia was more than just beautiful, she was dazzling. The villagers considered her one of the most beautiful women they had ever seen. Her light brown hair, glowing like gold in the sun, framed a gentle and perfect face, sculpted with artistic precision. Her figure, slender and unaltered despite her three pregnancies, radiated a fascinating feminine strength. Her green eyes, bright and deep like two emeralds, exuded a kind warmth and a sparkling intelligence. Her generous bosom, curved by nature, often attracted glances, but Yulia remained always graceful and modest, never defining herself by her appearance alone.

However, this beauty did not come without its share of jealousy. Some village women, less favored by the years and childbirth, looked at Yulia with envy. They whispered among themselves, bitter and harsh words, filled with frustration. Yulia's dazzling radiance was a cruel mirror that reflected their imperfections and insecurities.

"It's time to go to bed, my dear!" she murmured, her voice blending with the soothing crackling of the fire.

"Oh no, just wait a little longer," Lily objected, trying to suppress a treacherous yawn. Yulia smiled tenderly, wrapping her daughter in a soft and warm woolen blanket.

"I know, my dear. But tomorrow, I have to get up early to help in the fields. We have a lot of work."

"But I want to stay with you, Mom," the young girl insisted, her azure eyes, a reflection of her father's, filling with a pleading glow. Yulia sighed softly and tenderly stroked Lily's plump cheek to whisper gently in her ear.

"Tell me what you want in order to agree to go to bed without making a fuss."

At these words, Lily let out a joyful little laugh. She put her two little hands together as if to share a secret and whispered into her mother's ear in turn:

"The demon's song!"

Yulia nodded with an amused air; she expected it. Every night, the same song was requested. Settling more comfortably, she gently lifted Lily to place her on her lap. As she soothingly stroked her hair, she began to sing in a sweet, melodic voice...

As the sun rises, sweet and bright,

Be mindful, my little ones, full of light.

If you are wise, if you are good,

No worries, you'll play under the sun's hood.

But if you shout, if you misbehave,

Demons will come, with their grey knave.

They're always there, always at the ready,

To take children who aren't steady.

So be wise, my little dears,

And demons will stay far, far from here.

Otherwise, you will become, it would be a sad story,

Little demons, devoid of glory.

So, remain calm, be kind,

And demons will stay away from our minds.

The little rhyme, both sweet and mysterious, filled the room. The words floated away, carried by Yulia's soothing voice, and Lily curled up in her arms, let herself be carried off to the land of dreams.

As the last note of the rhyme faded into the air, the wooden door creaked timidly, allowing Tom to enter. His sturdy physique, marked by the rigors of the blacksmith's trade, stood out clearly even under his coarse clothes. The muscles of his shoulders and arms, sculpted by years of handling the hammer and anvil, contrasted with his limping gait caused by an old injury.

A swollen scar, a reminder of a forced military campaign by the local lord, twisted his left knee at an impossible angle, causing him pain each day and with each step.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Is she finally asleep?"

He asked in a low voice. Tom was eaten away by pain, the pain he had internalized for so many years. Despite his blue eyes reminiscent of the vastness of the sky, his expression had long since closed off, the marks of his suffering etched on his face that no longer smiled. All that remained of him was a simple man, eaten away by the bad decisions that had led him to live with this condition.

Passing by the fireplace, he grabbed the poker, playing like a child with the still-glowing embers.

Yulia turned to him and gently nodded.

"Yes, just now. Alice and Chloe too?"

The thought of her two other daughters brought a tender smile to Yulia's face. Alice, their eldest at twelve, was the spitting image of her mother. Her chestnut hair, soft as silk and reaching down to her waist, framed a delicate face with fine features. Her deep emerald green eyes were brimming with curiosity and bright intelligence.

Even though Alice had reached that delicate age where childhood was starting to give way to adolescence, she had retained a certain innocence.

Chloe, on the other hand, embodied her father's strength and resilience. At only eight years old, her pure blue eyes were a faithful mirror of Tom's. Her blonde, silky, and shiny hair cascaded happily over her shoulders, often in disarray due to her adventurous nature.

Tom let his gaze get lost in the still-warm ashes.

"I always wonder why she loves that nursery rhyme so much... It's rather frightening when you think about it."

Yulia shrugged nonchalantly, stroking Lily's back to keep her asleep.

"It's just a story for her, Tom. She doesn't really understand the meaning. I think it's not about the lyrics, but rather the tune of the song."

Before his injury, Tom was a warm, smiling, always energetic man. Since his return from the front and with his injury, he got upset more often, isolated himself, and didn't touch her with the same tenderness as before. She saw him suffering, but none of her attempts had worked, he was closing in on himself more each day, cursing his situation.

Soothed by the regular breathing of Lily, who was sleeping peacefully, and the soft crackling of dying embers, Tom delicately picked up his daughter's fragile body to put her to bed next to her two sisters. They needed a moment to themselves to discuss without risking waking them up, and above all, without worrying them with their problems.

Quietly, Tom closed the door to the room where their three daughters were resting. He then came back to the fireplace, his gait hesitant and slightly limping. He sat down in front of the hearth again, taking a moment before turning to his wife, his face still very serious.

"I worry about you, Yulia. You know, Joe is not an easy man... Are you really sure everything will go well tomorrow?"

Yulia softly smiled at her husband, placing a comforting hand on his arm. Her voice was soft but determined as she answered him.

"Tom, we need that elixir. And to get it, we need money. A lot of money. It's the only way to heal your leg. I won't be alone with Joe, there will be other peasants there. I can handle myself."

The precious elixir they so needed was an extremely rare and costly substance. Also called "God's Tears", a potion with miraculous properties that had the power to heal any disease or injury, a true panacea. However, its creation involved ingredients so unique and exotic that they were almost impossible to obtain. Furthermore, the concoction of the elixir required an almost forgotten expertise, an alchemical mastery that very few still possessed in this world. And that was the only remedy for Tom's leg, nothing else could ever heal the ailment that was eating him up.

Yulia had never imagined having to live this way... The burden of her husband's condition had gradually eroded the shine of her dreams and hopes, relegating them to the background. She loved him, with a deep and sincere love, but the reality of their situation made her feel trapped, forced to put her life on hold to devote herself to Tom's healing.

Contradictory feelings were colliding within her. She sometimes found herself feeling a pinch of resentment towards her husband, who had, despite himself, turned their life into an endless cycle of pain and sacrifices. She immediately scolded herself, ashamed of these thoughts she judged selfish. She was torn between her love for him and her thirst for freedom, a sense of guilt constantly tarnishing this already very dark picture.

Was she a bad person for having such feelings? She asked herself this question every time a harmful thought surfaced. It was a constant torment, an internal battle that often left her exhausted and lost.

Despite Yulia's reassuring words, Tom frowned, worry still present in his gaze.

"Tomorrow, you'll be with Joe... I want you to be careful, that old fossil has been ogling you for years and..."

Instead of gently reassuring her husband, her tone hardened, translating the seriousness of the situation.

"Tom, please stop!"

The change in tone of the young woman seemed to surprise Tom.

"Stop worrying about me, Tom. We don't have a choice. The elders have formed the groups, I have to go to the fields, and you know it very well, whether it's with Joe or anyone else..."

She retorted in a tense voice - not only against their delicate situation but also against the powerlessness she felt. She was not trying to hurt Tom, but rather to make him aware of the inevitability of their situation.

He nodded slowly, swallowing the bitter pill of reality she had just reminded him of. A part of him wanted to insist, protect his wife from all dangers, but he knew she was right. They didn't have a choice and he was partly to blame.

"I... I'm sorry, Yulia."

He said, his hoarse voice betraying his own inner struggles.

"You're right. It's unfair to you and... I understand."

He took a deep breath, trying to control the emotions that threatened to spill over.

"I'm going to bed, good night darling."

After Tom got up to join the bedroom, Yulia was left alone in the room, her thoughts running in circles. Her harsh reaction continued to echo in her head and a heavy guilt settled in her heart. She shouldn't have spoken to him that way. She loved Tom more than anything, and inflicting more pain on him tore her apart.

Taking a deep breath, she silently rose from her chair and headed to the corner of the room. Beneath the cozy sheepskin rug lay their most precious and desperate secret: a small hole dug into the floor, cleverly concealed under the wooden planks.

Each time they had managed to save a little money, they had buried it there, in the hope of gathering enough coins to buy the much-desired elixir. She bent over and carefully lifted a few planks, revealing the darkness below.

Yulia plunged her hand into the shadow and pulled out their small fortune: a handful of gold coins. There were perhaps a dozen coins, each representing many days of hard labor. She let them slide through her fingers, feeling their familiar weight. But as heavy as they were, she knew they were still far from what they needed. With a sigh, she carefully replaced the coins, closed the floor, and put the rug back in its place, her gaze lost in the embers.