Ethan still hadn't returned.
The night had passed, and Gwenda woke up feeling hungry. Naturally, she had slept until past noon, barely able to discern whether this ache was really hunger or something else.
The first sound she heard was the birds outside, then she noticed the light streaming through the cracks in the house. And ten more minutes in bed turned into twenty, which turned into thirty.
But she grumbled and got up, then lit the wood stove and heated water to make tea that Ethan had brought the day before. Gwenda had already forgotten the taste of this tea, and whenever she made it, it never tasted the same as when her mother made it while still alive.
She didn't understand why, but she simply stopped trying. Perhaps because she didn't feel the same way her mother did. She didn't do it with love and care. Because when she decided to make it, she was always in a bad mood and thinking too much about her work. Something that no longer made sense to continue.
Gwenda took the first sip as she stared at the kitchen wall over the sink. She lingered with the contents in her mouth, letting it lick every inch of the interior and leaving the taste that Gwenda had been waiting for.
She wiped away a drop that dripped with her pinkie and swallowed the tea before running her tongue over her lips and collecting it all. Gwenda poured the remaining hot tea down the drain and left the cup in the sink.
She sighed, stepping away from the mess and heading towards the fireplace. But not to light it, as the stove already warmed the room enough, just to stay close and let the heat work.
Gwenda knelt in front of the extinguished fireplace, the ashes staining the walls as if a head had exploded and blood splattered everywhere. She leaned forward and scanned every corner, looking for something she had no idea about.
But if she were to live in that place, she would snoop around and discover all possible exits and things she could use as weapons.
If what Ethan said was close to being true, then Gwenda knew she could be cornered with a dangerous man with a past as troubled as hers.
Ethan claimed to have always been an assassin. Gwenda was trying to imagine a child gutting an enemy, but nothing came to mind except her crying, fear, and terror. A child wouldn't be capable. The desire for revenge perhaps arrived earlier than most in Ethan's heart.
Gwenda stood up with a sigh and clasped her hands as she stretched them upwards.
Skipping breakfast when she knew she would be locked in the basement was one thing, but now that she had no idea what the day held for her, other than staying around, Gwenda wondered if she needed to eat something or drink something to be prepared.
She unlocked the balcony doors with a noise that hurt her ears, then pushed them aside and the light, as clear and bright as she remembered, after what seemed like a long time without it, mercilessly invaded the place.
Gwenda grimaced and squinted, refusing to let go of the doors to shield with her hand. She felt weak, if she let go, she would be destined to stagger down the stairs.
The sound of animals became more real, and she could hear chewing nearby. Both horses were still there, tethered with the rope that went from one neck to the other.
Gwenda observed Twilight. The horse kept its neck raised and stretched slightly towards her, both ears erect and turned towards Gwenda.
She gave a brief smile and finally let go to go over there.
Twilight started getting impatient and pulled the mare when he took two steps towards Gwenda. She stroked the horse's muzzle and moved on to the neck.
Ethan's mare was beautiful, her pale blue eyes contrasting with her perfect fur. She was almost the size of Twilight, but she wasn't as robust as him.
She hoped Ethan would come back soon, to tell the truth. What she felt about being alone in this place was nothing compared to what her agitated heart informed when she was walking alone through the Capital.
Even though she was the greatest shooter in Carsany, Gwenda felt tense in the streets at night while trying to maintain the appearance of someone strong and fearless. It was difficult when she passed by several drunks, or when they always stared at her while smoking something she wasn't interested in finding out.
But no one got up to touch her, no one followed her. One could say they were merciful with her, but Gwenda never saw it that way. She shouldn't see it like that. Because there was no mercy in those eyes.
The only thing that kept them away was who Gwenda pretended to be. And she was proud.
She admitted that sometimes her bones seemed to tremble inside her with voracity, but she focused on reaching her destination.
Ethan still hadn't returned.
The night had passed, and Gwenda woke up feeling hungry. Naturally, she had slept until past noon, barely able to discern whether this ache was really hunger or something else.
The first sound she heard was the birds outside, then she noticed the light streaming through the cracks in the house. And ten more minutes in bed turned into twenty, which turned into thirty.
But she grumbled and got up, then lit the wood stove and heated water to make tea that Ethan had brought the day before. Gwenda had already forgotten the taste of this tea, and whenever she made it, it never tasted the same as when her mother made it while still alive.
She didn't understand why, but she simply stopped trying. Perhaps because she didn't feel the same way her mother did. She didn't do it with love and care. Because when she decided to make it, she was always in a bad mood and thinking too much about her work. Something that no longer made sense to continue.
Gwenda took the first sip as she stared at the kitchen wall over the sink. She lingered with the contents in her mouth, letting it lick every inch of the interior and leaving the taste that Gwenda had been waiting for.
She wiped away a drop that dripped with her pinkie and swallowed the tea before running her tongue over her lips and collecting it all. Gwenda poured the remaining hot tea down the drain and left the cup in the sink.
She sighed, stepping away from the mess and heading towards the fireplace. But not to light it, as the stove already warmed the room enough, just to stay close and let the heat work.
Gwenda knelt in front of the extinguished fireplace, the ashes staining the walls as if a head had exploded and blood splattered everywhere. She leaned forward and scanned every corner, looking for something she had no idea about.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
But if she were to live in that place, she would snoop around and discover all possible exits and things she could use as weapons.
If what Ethan said was close to being true, then Gwenda knew she could be cornered with a dangerous man with a past as troubled as hers.
Ethan claimed to have always been an assassin. Gwenda was trying to imagine a child gutting an enemy, but nothing came to mind except her crying, fear, and terror. A child wouldn't be capable. The desire for revenge perhaps arrived earlier than most in Ethan's heart.
Gwenda stood up with a sigh and clasped her hands as she stretched them upwards.
Skipping breakfast when she knew she would be locked in the basement was one thing, but now that she had no idea what the day held for her, other than staying around, Gwenda wondered if she needed to eat something or drink something to be prepared.
She unlocked the balcony doors with a noise that hurt her ears, then pushed them aside and the light, as clear and bright as she remembered, after what seemed like a long time without it, mercilessly invaded the place.
Gwenda grimaced and squinted, refusing to let go of the doors to shield with her hand. She felt weak, if she let go, she would be destined to stagger down the stairs.
The sound of animals became more real, and she could hear chewing nearby. Both horses were still there, tethered with the rope that went from one neck to the other.
Gwenda observed Twilight. The horse kept its neck raised and stretched slightly towards her, both ears erect and turned towards Gwenda.
She gave a brief smile and finally let go to go over there.
Twilight started getting impatient and pulled the mare when he took two steps towards Gwenda. She stroked the horse's muzzle and moved on to the neck.
Ethan's mare was beautiful, her pale blue eyes contrasting with her perfect fur. She was almost the size of Twilight, but she wasn't as robust as him.
She hoped Ethan would come back soon, to tell the truth. What she felt about being alone in this place was nothing compared to what her agitated heart informed when she was walking alone through the Capital.
Even though she was the greatest shooter in Carsany, Gwenda felt tense in the streets at night while trying to maintain the appearance of someone strong and fearless. It was difficult when she passed by several drunks, or when they always stared at her while smoking something she wasn't interested in finding out.
But no one got up to touch her, no one followed her. One could say they were merciful with her, but Gwenda never saw it that way. She shouldn't see it like that. Because there was no mercy in those eyes.
The only thing that kept them away was who Gwenda pretended to be. And she was proud.
She admitted that sometimes her bones seemed to tremble inside her with voracity, but she focused on reaching her destination.
She admitted that sometimes her bones seemed to tremble inside her with voracity, but she focused on reaching her destination.
Gwenda was alone. She always saw herself alone walking the dusty streets. Not because she didn't have company to marvel at the stars, but because she was empty. But a thought always occurred to her when she was alone. That everything that happens to her is her fault. All relapses are consequences of what Gwenda does to herself.
So, in the end, walking at night was a way to distance herself from herself and try to travel in a nonexistent world. A world that Gwenda herself created.
She liked doing this when she was younger, when she had time to spend her ideas on paper bought with the money she had earned with great effort. But her parents almost made her stop by saying that she should use this newfound talent as a way to make money, or it would be a waste of time.
They had faith that Gwenda would get a job at a young age. And if it wasn't with the money she had saved for a long time, her parents or no one would buy a book or paper for her. Besides ink and pen. In the end, everything was so expensive that she felt sad and unwilling.
Remembering that she could still draw and write, or read the fantasy books that were so important to her... Gwenda would hardly feel as comfortable as she was. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.
Gwenda stepped away from Twilight, tired, and entered the house again. She stood still looking at the fireplace and the sofa, wondering if she should go there and sit, waiting for Ethan. Because, indeed, he hadn't gone hunting.
But Gwenda was so tired and depressed that she was sure her eyes sparkled with desire when she turned to the bed. She shouldn't lie down again, but what was stopping her?
So she rubbed her face with one hand and headed towards the bed with the intention of lying down and waiting for the pale man.
And so she did.
----------------------------------------
It was a terrible idea.
Darcy Raux stood in front of Gwenda's tombstone, constantly calculating the age of his former agent.
The wind screamed: 27 27 27 27. But his mind said 26. Gwenda was 26 years old, and now she was decaying inside the coffin.
Vannyer was by his side. Incredibly, Ryxer Vannyer was by his side with his hands clasped in front of his body, his head bowed. Both were wounded inside.
He hadn't accepted the last three times Darcy had arranged time from his work the previous afternoon to visit Gwen. But today he was there, in the morning. He didn't shower and didn't eat anything, both were hungry, but they wanted to get there as early as possible.
Perhaps Ryxer had come alone other times, Darcy couldn't say.
But the last few times he came without a companion and realized that the cemetery was completely empty, Darcy would sit on the ground and lean his back against the side of the tombstone, and then speak alone.
In fact, she liked to think she was talking to Gwenda, but it wasn't the same. She was literally talking to the wind, but it was good. Because she could speak without fear, she could open the darkest and most closed part of herself.
She blamed herself for not doing this while Gwen was still alive. The weight on her shoulders of guilt and defeat shook her and seemed to whisper aggressively in her ear: you're useless; now leave her alone.
Because before she didn't leave her alone, because there was always something to do, because Darcy wanted Gwenda to see who she really was...
And now she was going after her to be able to tell about her own woes.
In fact, she should leave her alone. Let Gwen rest.
So, when the whispers became unbearable, Raux would leave without saying goodbye. She would never say goodbye again because she would never be the last, and Darcy would fight for it.
It was a terrible idea to visit Gwenda, but she missed her and it was the only way she could feel like she was having any more contact. The closest to her she could get.
She still remembered when she bought her from Rubben. She had spent all the money she had once decided to start saving for a failed idea that probably would never have happened.
But the fact was that she remembered the first glimmer she noticed in Gwen's eyes. The terror and fear; panic and pain. All mixed together and forming something that almost made Darcy fall to her knees. She knew Gwenda needed help a long time ago, she had found out too late.
And, in the end, she couldn't do anything else. She didn't even look at her one last time while she still had that voracity in her gaze, life.
Something hit her elbow and Darcy blinked. Once. Twice. And then she took a deep breath, knowing she was short of breath.
— We can't stay here forever. — Vannyer warned beside her.
Darcy opened a little smile.
— No, we can't. — she replied — But this thought won't let us go.
— No. — he agreed.
The truth was that everything seemed threatened, and Darcy should seek answers and ways to help fix it.
In fact, the date and time were already set for a rare meeting. Everyone should meet and start discussing the subject, how to act cautiously and move forward with the attack without arousing suspicion.
Today would be the day they decided.
Everyone was devastated, but they had to endure the idea that there was one less in the game. One less to maintain the harmony that, very slowly, had begun to be created.