A gentle breeze swept across the fields of the village of Ys, causing them to sway in rhythm with the wind. The morning chill had gradually dissipated, replaced by the stifling heat of summer. Under her linen dress, Yulia could already feel beads of sweat forming on her skin even though her day hadn't truly begun.

She stood in the shade of a majestic oak tree at the edge of the forest, savoring the last remnants of coolness its dense foliage could provide. Mesmerized by the hypnotic display of wheat spikes trembling under the wind's caress, her eyelids grew heavy. She allowed herself to relax, closing her eyes, relishing this moment of respite far from the children and troubles.

This feeling of tranquility intensified her desire to delay all the responsibilities that weighed on her shoulders. The discussion with Tom the previous evening had robbed her of sleep. Come early morning, she didn't get the chance to apologize, he had already left for the smithy.

If she stayed there, motionless, Yulia knew she would be in trouble. She had abandoned her work at the local tavern to lend a hand in the fields, just like everyone else in the village did at some point or another. Some people used their connections to escape this duty, and sometimes, she envied them.

With a final sigh, Yulia painfully opened her eyes and slapped her cheeks to motivate herself. Her gaze was drawn to Joe, who was busy a little further away, allowing her husband's fears to come back to her memory. She knew the tumultuous past of the old man, who had once attacked women in the fields. But that was years ago, and with age, he must have calmed down, or at least, she hoped so.

Straightening up, she dusted off her linen dress, feeling the roughness of the twigs and leaves that had clung to it. She adjusted her straw hat and headed towards the wheat field, where she spotted old Joe already at work.

"Finally! I was starting to wonder if you were going to spend the whole morning lounging in the shade or if you were eventually going to lend me a hand," he exclaimed, his voice blending into the song of the cicadas.

An embarrassed smile brushed Yulia's lips at the remark of this man she had known forever. Jo, a pillar of the community, had spent his life outdoors. His skin was wrinkled and tanned by decades under the sun, laboring hard in the fields.

His face was a maze of deep wrinkles. An old straw hat, faded and deformed by time, crowned his head, completing his rustic look. However, she mostly knew old Jo as a regular at the bar, spending his days at the tavern where Yulia worked, sitting at the same table for years.

He would quietly observe the activity around him, his mind often lost in memories of his late wife. All he had ever told Yulia was that she reminded him of her. It was still a raw wound for him, a scar that had never truly healed. Over time, Jo had gotten used to his loneliness, to the deafening silence that haunted him. His occasional behavior towards women was too often forgiven, considering his situation.

"It's because you're so efficient that I feel more like I'm in your way than anything else," she responded.

In reply, the old farmer grumbled something unintelligible, a familiar litany about the lack of respect for the current youth and their responsibility for all the evils on this earth.

"And what else? You should start by taking care of that row, instead of spouting nonsense as big as your breasts!"

Yulia gritted her teeth, a prick of annoyance testing her usual patience. Age and solitude had soured Joe, and he seemed to have given up on any attempt at sociability. The urge to hurl a clod of earth at his face grew as he continued to wield his sickle through the golden stalks of wheat.

The thought of changing him seemed futile, an expenditure of energy she'd rather devote to her harvest. Holding her sickle firmly, she tried as best she could to mimic Joe's precise and rhythmic movements and immersed herself in her task.

Working alongside Joe was seldom a pleasant experience. The old man had this strange tendency to shoot off biting remarks. But despite his flaws, his dogged persistence and endurance at work couldn't be denied. Working with Joe meant that she would be home earlier at the end of the day.

Hours seemed to trickle away under the ruthless sun, and time almost seemed to stand still. Joe, always ahead, kept up a steady and unwavering pace. Yulia followed closely behind, not intimidated by the workload, the elements, or the man.

The old man occasionally cast reproachful glances at Yulia, perpetually grumbling, his sharp comments blending into the noise of his constant, indecent peeks at the young woman's neckline. A malicious smile gradually stretched across his face, casting a predatory gleam in his eyes. She could feel his heavy gaze upon her and despite the scorching heat, she couldn't shake off an eerie chill.

"Yulia, my dear, despite the passing years, you remain as fresh as morning dew! If only I weren't so worn by time…"

Yulia managed a forced smile, feeling immensely uncomfortable. His lingering gaze, seemingly wanting to devour her, repulsed her. Instinctively, she tightened her linen shirt around herself, trying in vain to conceal her chest which was too much on display from being bent over. However, after hours under the relentless sun, the fabric clung to her skin, unwillingly accentuating her generous curves.

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Joe's inappropriate gaze took her back to the conversation she had with Tom the previous night. Her husband had expressed concerns about her working in the fields, especially because of Joe. She remembered trying to dispel his fears, reminding him that Joe was just a bitter old man, harmless. She wondered if she had been naive in not taking Tom's worries seriously.

She decided, despite her revulsion, to respond politely but firmly to Joe. This lecherous old man held a certain influence over the village elders, and antagonizing him could potentially bring more trouble to her family.

"Thank you, Joe, but as you know, I'm married, I have a family and besides... why would I bother myself with a man who could be old enough to be my grandfather?"

This comeback felt like a stab to his pride, a dull pain he knew all too well. If there was one thing he despised more than anything, it was being reminded of his age. He would not stand for it. This feeling brought back unpleasant memories, faces of women from the past who hadn't taken him seriously and had also rejected him, always using his age as an excuse.

But all of this was just an excuse; no woman wanted to dally with an old drunkard who was only a shadow of his former self. Losing patience, he ended up raising his voice at the young woman.

"Your husband, he's just a fucking cripple! You have no idea what a real man is! I can assure you I've still got as much vigor as I had in my twenties."

He turned his head towards Yulia, his gaze filled with an unhealthy determination. He was going to show her what it meant to play the tease. He had been holding back for far too long. He stood up, pretending to stretch his back, grabbed his leather flask strapped to his belt, and took several swigs of lukewarm wine to bolster his courage.

He wiped his mouth with a sleeve, and discreetly looked around to make sure they were alone and wouldn't be interrupted. Satisfied, he approached Yulia who was still on the ground, avoiding his gaze. With a feigned gentleness he rarely displayed, he offered her the flask, a gesture he intended to be soothing.

"Drink!"

When Yulia looked up, she found herself face-to-face with the mouth of Joe's leather flask. The vinegary smell of the turned wine hit her nostrils and instantly made her nauseous. She pushed it away quickly, causing the flask to fall to the ground, its contents spilling over the freshly harvested wheat.

"Dirty whore! I've had enough of your tantrums!"

With a brutal swipe of his hand, Joe struck Yulia's temple with the handle of his sickle. She fell to the ground, completely dazed, unable to determine which position she was in. The only thing she felt was the weight of the old man on her, her wrists firmly held by Joe's iron grip, his hideous expression, and the taste of dirt and blood in her mouth.

"You're going to calm down and let it happen! You've been tempting me with your ways for a while, I've been patient, oh yes I have! But that's all over now, you hear?"

Yulia felt Joe's large calloused fingers, rough as sandpaper, moving up her thigh. They clung to the fragile fabric of her underwear, pulling without care. The fabric ripped under his brute force, the soft tearing sound echoing in her ears. Finally, she was laid bare to the gaze of this man who was now nothing more than an animal.

She tried to scream, but Joe's strong, sweaty hand covered her mouth, stifling any attempt at sound. His stale breath, mixed with the smell of sweat and vinegar, seeped into her nostrils, sickening her. The muffled sounds of her heart beating wildly were all she could hear, covering Joe's low growl.

She tasted the dirt that seeped between her slightly open lips, bitter and gritty. Through the fog of her tears, she saw the summer blue sky above her, as indifferent as the merciless sun. The hard, dry ground beneath her was heated by the day's warmth, every stone and dry blade of grass felt like a thorn against her skin. The heavy, omnipresent chirping of cicadas covered the sound of her pleas.

"Let it happen or your little ones will pay the price, got it?"

A hiccup of terror gripped her, paralyzing her. The threat to her children rooted her to the spot; she didn't dare move anymore. Yulia turned her head to the side, no longer willing to endure the repulsive sight of her assailant. She felt Joe's hand move up her thigh again, boldly venturing towards her intimacy.

Something caught her attention, a few centimeters from her head. There, on the dusty ground, the sunlight drew silver gleams on the blade of her sickle, as if fate was sending her a sign.

Joe, while undoing his trousers with one hand, let go of the young woman's wrists. He abruptly lifted her linen dress, revealing more than she would have wanted, and a cruel smirk spread across his chapped lips as he ran his tongue over them.

A piercing scream escaped Yulia as he tore the light fabric of her dress with a brutal gesture, exposing her voluptuous bust to the eager gaze of this depraved being. Joe seemed to have abandoned all notions of humanity, his eyes bloodshot, fixed on her, deaf to everything around him.

The old man leaned in without ceremony, burying his head in the young woman's opulent chest, biting and kneading with indecent greed. Each bite elicited a whimper of pain from her, her soft and perfect skin marred by the roughness of his teeth. A feeling of intense repulsion overwhelmed her in the face of the abomination of this situation, but she gritted her teeth, transforming her terror and revulsion into a form of fierce determination as best she could.

As her hand groped the warm ground, she finally met the handle of her sickle. The coolness of the metal in her hand provided some semblance of comfort, and she gripped it firmly.

Without a shred of hesitation, Yulia swung the sickle with all the strength she had. The sharp blade plunged into Joe's vulnerable throat, penetrating the tender flesh. A dull, wet sound accompanied the impact, followed almost immediately by a muffled gurgle and a bloody cough.

Blood spurted out in a red, sticky geyser, splashing Yulia's body and staining her bare skin with a vibrant purple. The metallic smell of fresh blood filled her nostrils. She felt the heat of the crimson liquid flowing over her skin, drops trickling down her face and falling onto her chest. The taste of iron seeped into her mouth, bitter and unforgettable.

Joe's body suddenly tensed, his hands releasing her chest to clutch his neck in a desperate gesture. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened in a silent scream as life left him. The deafening sound of the cicadas faded away, replaced by the frantic beating of her heart in her ears and the disgusting noise of the sickle being pulled from Joe's neck like an overripe fruit.

The sight of Joe collapsing, helpless beside her, blood still pulsating from his wound, was as horrifying as it was liberating. He would never touch her again, nor anyone else. It was over. As the lifeless body of her assailant lay next to her, Yulia felt a wave of relief wash over her.

But with that relief came tears. A cascade of burning, salty tears she had held back until now. Yulia's body began to shake, racked by uncontrollable sobs. Naked and covered in blood under the relentless sun, Yulia cried.