Chapter 3: Seeking Judgment
"We don't get to see that every day, right Astraea?" Mildred, with her flowing brown hair, turned to her companion, her eyes filled with anticipation.
Astraea met Mildred's gaze, her golden brown eyes reflecting the warmth of her smile. If Astraea was the epitome of beauty in the town, Mildred was the gentle sun that bathed its people in affection and comfort.
"You're the cook's assistant, Mildred. You've been spared most of the horridness in this place since you're always in the kitchen," Astraea remarked, her tone laced with a touch of envy.
Fidgeting with the paper bags on the fruit stands, she struggled to contain her discontent.
Mildred's excitement was undeterred as she retorted playfully, "Yes, yes Astraea. But I just figured... I'd come to see you before I make my way back."
A twinge of guilt washed over Astraea at Mildred's genuine presence. In a town where Astraea donned a mask as her armor, constantly pleasing others with kindness and flattery, she couldn't help but feel the weight of loneliness. She was valued for her assistance and pleasing appearance, but no one truly cared about the person hidden beneath the mask.
Mildred, however, liked Astraea for who she truly was. Sarcastic, witty, and accepting of her occasional coldness, Mildred understood the discomfort Astraea felt under the judgment of the Goddess. She chose to visit Astraea, even if Astraea would never admit her longing for a genuine connection.
Amid their conversation, Mildred hesitated momentarily, as if searching for the right words. "I mean... I... I totally forgot! I also wanted to talk about the Summer Solstice Festival. It's coming up in a couple of weeks, right?"
A dreamy expression took hold of Mildred's face as she continued, "Ah, that means we'll be able to see the Apostles!" Her eyes glazed over with excitement, and her cheeks flushed crimson. Astraea needed no further confirmation that Mildred had already drifted into a world of fantasies.
"Apostles?" Astraea questioned. "But why would they be marching through our town? They never set foot here."
Her gaze lifted to the sky, squinting against the dilapidated buildings. Beyond them, she caught a glimpse of lush green hills and majestic mountains. Castles adorned the peaks, nestled within thick forests of towering trees.
The tallest among them was the royal palace, its splendid facade proclaiming its closeness to the Goddess of Light. Regal towers and ornate domes reached toward the heavens, as if aspiring to claim the divine radiance for themselves. Directly below the palace, the Royal Academy stood, an expansive campus that housed the Apostles —individuals blessed by the Goddess, dedicating their lives to carrying out her judgment.
"Apostles," Astraea repeated. Her pale hand, smudged with the dirt of relentless labor, reached out involuntarily towards the Academy, contrasting against the colossal marble pillars of the building.
"Yes!" Mildred interjected, eager to contribute to the conversation. "They are the Goddess's chosen Children, wielding her powers to bring goodness to the world!" She twirled around, her imagination carrying her to ever further away realms. “They receive the Goddess’s Blessing through their benevolent acts, unlike us poor townsfolk.”
Mildred saw a wilted dandelion growing through the dirt’s cracks and plucked it, giving it over to Astraea as a gift.
“If I were an Apostle, this should’ve given me a Blessing,” she pouted. “I wonder what my powers would’ve been…why wasn’t I born as one of her Chosen ones?” Her face suddenly fell, crestfallen.
Seeing her reaction, Astraea’s inquisitive nature prompted her to question further. "But aren't we all her children? According to the legends, we are descendants of Humans, right?"
The mention of such thoughts sent Mildred into a sudden panic. She anxiously scanned their surroundings, as if expecting the swift descent of divine judgment.
"Astraea! We mustn't speak such things about the Goddess," she whispered, her voice laden with fear. "What if she hears and brings down her Judgment upon us?"
Rolling her eyes at Mildred's apprehension, Astraea dismissed the notion.
"There's no way that would happen. Remember the Five Commandments?" she reminded her friend, pointing towards the small pole in the center of the town's square. Etched clumsily into a plaque, the Commandments read the following:
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Goddess’s Judgment
You will not kill
You will not steal
You will not violate another
You will not greed over another’s belongings
You will not worship the Daemon
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“So,” Astraea said, “Did I disobey any of the Commandments?”
“No,” Mildred replied sheepishly. “But still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful, you know.”
“That’s true, we’re not Apostles after all.”
Oh no, Astraea thought. As soon as she muttered those words, Mildred was back on a rampage.
"Apostles! Our saviors of Light, protecting us from the monsters within the Abyss," she exclaimed, her voice growing increasingly animated.
Astraea, feeling a mixture of amusement and exasperation, quickly covered her ears.
"Okay, I got it!" she interjected, cutting Mildred off mid-sentence. "Yes, you're right. The Apostles are our protectors. But it's getting late now, and you should probably head back before the cook realizes you're gone."
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With a slight smile, Astraea bid Mildred goodbye as she happily skipped back toward the tavern, the warmth of her family awaiting her there.
Mildred was fortunate. Despite the struggles faced by the tavern, her parents shared a deep love, radiating happiness that enveloped their only beloved daughter. Her father, the cook, imparted his wisdom and kind heart, forging a strong bond between them. Even in a place where life seemed bleak and inhospitable, they weathered trials and tribulations as a united team.
Sometimes, if only for a fleeting moment, Astraea wished her birth mother could have been even a fraction of the caring and supportive parents Mildred had.
. . .
As the sun set, it painted the sky with hues of red and orange, casting an eerie glow over the town. The weary trader, with a hint of disappointment, began counting his profits and let out a small tsk.
"This ain't enough, miss," he lamented. "We barely sold anything today."
Astraea nodded in understanding, her heart heavy with the weight of their meager earnings. Despite her silver tongue, many customers had left her fruit stands empty-handed, drawn more to conversation than commerce. "We'll just have to try again tomorrow," she reassured herself, hoping for better luck.
"But she won't be happy," the trader added, his voice tinged with worry.
Both Astraea and the trader shared an unspoken understanding of what those words meant. Silently, they packed the unsold produce into the cart, their footsteps echoing through the dimming light. As the sun's final rays transformed into deeper shades of red and gray, a chilly wind swept through the trees, sending a tingling sensation down her back. She brushed back a stray strand of hair that had escaped from behind her ear and continued trudging alongside the trader. As the last sliver of sunset vanished from the horizon, Astraea found herself standing at the front of the farm, where warm light spilled from the windows, pushing back the encroaching darkness.
"I'll see you tomorrow," the trader bid her farewell, his eyes briefly filled with pity before his expression hardened once more.
. . .
"You're finally home," Auntie Helen's voice greeted Astraea as she stepped through the threshold.
Weariness was etched into Astraea's features, as much as she tried to hide it. Auntie Helen's eyes swiftly assessed the large remnants of fruits and vegetables lingering in the cart, disappointment and frustration knitting their way into her voice.
"All of this is left?" she inquired, her tone heavy with disapproval.
"Yes, Aunt," Astraea replied. She held herself emotionless, but in her mind was thinking of a thousand different ways to escape the situation.
"Why didn't you sell more?" Auntie Helen's impatience manifested in the rapid tapping of her fingers against the worn kitchen table. Uncle Roger, consumed by his meal, remained silent, a passive participant in the scene unfolding before him.
To outsiders, the scene appeared normal, but Astraea knew what was about to ensnare her, casting her as helpless prey.
"This is the fourth day in a row you've brought back such meager earnings," Auntie Helen accused, her voice growing sharper.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Helen—" Astraea's voice trembled. When she needed it most, words failed her. She wanted to explain herself, to justify her efforts, but her words were cruelly severed.
"That's all you have to say?" Auntie Helen's voice rose, her words laced with a venomous threat.
Frozen in place, Astraea's hands clenched tightly, her knuckles turning white as she fought against the torrent of emotions building within her. It wasn’t her fault the townspeople didn’t have money. It wasn’t her fault that no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t revive her uncle’s failing business.
Aunt Helen seemed to notice her silent protest. A slow smile curled Auntie Helen's lips as she circled Astraea, her eyes gleaming. The atmosphere grew dense with tension, a palpable heaviness hanging in the air.
"You little slut—" Auntie Helen's words hissed through the room, each syllable dripping with venom.
"What's that look in your eyes?" With a sudden, violent tug, she seized Astraea's hair, forcibly yanking her down to the unforgiving ground. Astraea's gasp caught in her throat as the pain radiated through her scalp, her world reduced to a whirlwind of agony and fear.
"Are your looks useless?" Auntie Helen's voice twisted with disdain, her words slicing through the air. "Playing hooky with men, behaving like the whore you are—"
"Aunt, please—" Astraea's plea was cut short as Auntie Helen's open hand connected with her cheek, leaving behind a searing pain and a blossoming welt.
"You eat our food without contributing anything! Useless bitch!" Auntie Helen shouted, her fury unleashed in a tirade of verbal abuse. "If I had my way—"
“Enough.”
A voice, cold and cutting, pierced the escalating chaos. Uncle Roger had risen from his seat, his gaze piercing through the tense atmosphere. A wave of frigid air washed over the room, extinguishing the warmth of the flickering candlelight, leaving behind only icy tension.
"Are you stupid?" Uncle Roger's voice reverberated through the room, sharp and uncompromising.
The grip on Astraea's hair slackened as Auntie Helen recoiled, fear and realization dawning in her eyes. Trembling, she stood before her husband, paralyzed by his piercing gaze.
"I told you..." Uncle Roger's voice trailed off, his deep breath filling the silence, heavy with an unspoken warning.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO HIT HER FACE!"
Uncle Roger's fist collided with Auntie Helen's stomach, causing her to crumple to the floor, gasping for air, her body wracked with pain.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Auntie Helen's words were barely audible, a whispered confession of remorse. "I went too far..."
Exhausted and exasperated, Uncle Roger sighed, pausing in his frustration. The room stood suspended in an uncomfortable stillness as the echoes of violence lingered.
"You need to—" Uncle Roger began, his voice tinged with weariness, only to be replaced by his sudden anger.
“You need to–”
KICK
“Listen to me!”
KICK
Each merciless blow brought forth cries of pain from Auntie Helen, her body curled protectively around her wounded stomach. The brutality continued until, at long last, the violence ceased, leaving only a whimpering body on the ground.
"Useless woman." Uncle Roger's voice dripped with disdain. "All that brat is good for is her face. You should know better. My dinner is spoiled now."
With his last vestiges of strength depleted, Uncle Roger retreated to the bedroom.
“I expect you to serve me when you’re done with…this.” He waved his hands up in the air before slamming the door shut.
"Yes..." Auntie Helen's voice trembled as she struggled to regain her footing, her eyes locked on Astraea.
When Aunt Helen finally situated herself, the fear in her eyes was replaced with something much more sinister. She walked up to Astraea, their faces only inches away from each other.
"Aunt..." Astraea's voice wavered between fear and defiance, a quiet plea for compassion. "It will get better. The Summer Solstice is only weeks away. People will be preparing for the festival—"
"Turn around and kneel." Auntie Helen's command, delivered with a chilling absence of emotion, left Astraea no choice but to comply.
Astraea's lip quivered as she bit down, her heart racing in her chest. She wanted so badly to scream, to retaliate. But if she did, where would she go–where would she escape to? Who would support her in a town where everyone can barely survive?
"Yes... Aunt Helen," Astraea whispered, her voice tinged with resignation.
As Astraea obediently knelt on the worn floorboards, the flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows around her, dancing in silent testimony to the torment she would endure.
“Unbutton yourself,” Aunt Helen said. Her hand reached towards the whip.