We Help Each Other #3
She looks down at the scarred flesh. Warmth builds within the mutilation. Small at first, so she can almost ignore it. But the heat keeps gathering until it becomes uncomfortable. Unbearable. Until she is wincing and hissing through her teeth and clutching her hand.
“What is it?” Kelda rushes over.
Euphemia has no words for her. Alarm is screaming too fiercely in her bones, for the pain can only mean one thing.
Frantic and fried, Euphemia’s gaze tears the surrounding area apart. She scans every nook, every shadow, searching for the creature her scars alert her to.
And there, down the road that leads out of town, away from torchlights, away from civilization, something sparks in the darkness. A single violet flame. Growing. Swelling as the beast clip-clops toward her.
Euphemia cannot tear her gaze away. Cannot let the beast out of her sight, else it might drag her away and she would never be seen again.
Was it always meant to be like this? One step outside the confines of their town, and the nightmare would descend upon her. Hauling Euphemia away like an animal carcass into the frightening unknown?
She had been a fool.
There is no escaping it…
It is her fate.
The nightmare strides forward.
Fate or not, Euphemia mirrors it, taking one—two—three steps back. Heart erratic. Breathing labored. She scans the surrounding darkness in search of the shadowed figure she’s come to expect beside the creature as well. But he seems nowhere to be found.
Kelda, noticing Euphemia’s horror-stricken face, reaches out to steady her.
Those vibrant, knowing eyes search her expression for information she will not find there.
Euphemia opens her mouth to convey it instead, tries screaming at the woman to turn around, to run, but no sound comes out.
She has become a writhing, silent worm desperate to wriggle away, but Kelda’s grasp holds firm.
Slowly, Kelda turns around.
Peers into the darkness.
The creature vanishes before her eyes can settle upon it.
And Euphemia feels her whole world shift again. An answer taking shape right before her eyes. Because she cannot deny that this woman has just scared away the most frightening creature she has ever beheld. And that, alone, changes everything.
Finding nothing of interest down the dark road, Kelda turns her attention back to Euphemia, a skeptic quirk to her blonde brow. “Afraid of the dark, are you?”
“It was just my hand. It hurts on occasion.”
Kelda nods, though she does not look convinced. She releases Euphemia’s shoulders. Waits. “You are not running any longer?”
Euphemia inhales, the crisp night airs filling her lungs with something that tastes like possibility.
For the first time in a long time, Euphemia sees a path forward. Not running. Not hiding.
A cure.
All of this—the nightmare, the curse, the shame—it all began with her sinful heart desiring someone. Longing to feel things no unwed woman should. And what better way to repair her sense of morality, her piety, than to show that her devotion goes beyond lustful yearnings and midnight promenades.
The answer to her problem is not terminal isolation. It is connection. Unity. Matrimony.
If Euphemia can be a good wife, perhaps she can rid herself of damnation. Save her family.
She’s astonished the thought hasn’t come to her sooner.
“No, I am done running. I have my answer.”
A wicked grin creeps up the side of Kelda’s face, revealing her one false tooth. “Dagfinn needs a wife. You need a plan. Both families prosper.”
A brief whisper of hesitation rears its head up.
Something about all of this feels too good to be true, like Euphemia is making a deal with the Devil himself.
What other choice does she have? Already, she is in the throes of darkness.
If this seals her fate, so be it. The possibility of fixing everything is worth it. Even if she is still doomed, at least her family will believe she’s safe, and the town will find her absence legitimate if she’s married of to a noble son.
Euphemia Branwen, the Countess of Thorfell Crag.
With finality, the new title rolls over her like the passing of a cloud.
She tests his name, too. Dagfinn. Lets it echo in her mind, wearing grooves in all the places it has not been before. Something about it already feels familiar, the spaces where his name nestles already eager to receive him.
Euphemia bites her lip.
She knows she should tell Kelda the truth. Warn her about the curse. Just so she knows.
But now that salvation is so near, Euphemia can’t bring herself to risk it. She owes it to her family not to.
Besides, Kelda herself already admitted to seeing through her damned soul.
A dark cloud, she had called her the moment they met.
Somehow, she had seen Euphemia’s guilt. Felt the shame consuming her.
And although she does not know the whole truth, Kelda seems willing to accept her regardless.
Willing to grant her shelter during one of her greatest times of need.
It is selfish to accept such an offer.
And yet…
Fishing into her pocket, Euphemia retrieves her leather pouch and hands it to Kelda. “My dowry then.”
The widow weighs the bag in the palm of her hand with a cocked brow. “Your dowry?”
Heat consumes Euphemia’s face. But Kelda doesn’t wait for confirmation, nor denial. She merely tosses the pouch back to her. Euphemia barely manages to catch it before it can plummet to the ground.
“Where I come from it is the husband’s family who pays the bride’s family for their loss, not the other way around.”
“Oh,” Euphemia says, dumbfounded. She stares down at the pouch, not wanting to argue, but unsure of how to respond to such a cultural difference.
It feels heavier with every passing moment knowing that this money wasn’t even hers to begin with.
She thrusts the pouch to Kelda again. “In that case, this money needs to be returned to my family.”
“Of course, of course. Shall we tell Andriana the happy news then—”
“No!” Euphemia shouts and Kelda has the gall to look as if she is surprised by the answer, as if she is not already aware that Euphemia was fleeing in the dead of night. Euphemia controls her volume. “No. We send word once we’re already on the road.”
“Very well.” Kelda pockets the pouch and relief eases Euphemia’s chest. “I’ll send a letter in the morning so they know where you are. When we arrive at Thorfell, I’ll send the bride price, and see to it that your sister’s dowry is returned as well.”
Euphemia doesn’t even have the pretense in her to insist the woman has deduced incorrectly. “Thank you.”
With a nod, Kelda motions for Euphemia to follow. “Come. I have a carriage waiting for us.”
As Kelda starts walking, Euphemia gives one final glance toward the town behind her. The place where she grew up. Her home. The keeper of her fondest memories—and her darkest.
In the distance, a chilling whinny splits the night.
Euphemia hurries after Kelda and climbs into the carriage. There is no driver waiting at the front. Surely, a countess should have one. But after the day she’s had, she decides she has no room left for questions as Kelda takes the reins herself, and the carriage rumbles out of town.
Euphemia tells herself that this time it will be different. This time she will best the nightmare stalking her. The temptation that vexes her. The curse that has ruined her.
For the first time in her life, she has no idea what lies ahead.
Perhaps that is frightening.
Perhaps it will be freeing.
Then, through the window, Euphemia sees the figure. Broad shoulders roiling with shadows. A man watching the carriage disappear down the road.
And somehow, it feels as though this is what he’s wanted all along.