SONG RECOMMENDATIONS: "Labour" by Paris Paloma
She pushed open her matrimonial bedroom door and ran to the quaint wooden crib beside their bed.
Her baby girl's glossy eyes stared at her unblinking, her red bud lips opening in a joyful coo at the familiar face. Her daughter might have been awoken by the commotion but didn't cry. She hardly did in these trying times. It made her wonder some days if she knew the grief of her mother and refused to bother her further.
A loud crash—a window breaking downstairs—and her maids' cries jerked her into motion as she picked up her child and wrapped her in a thick woolen blanket.
She ran downstairs to find her guards pushing against the wooden doors, which had broken off their hinges, and the maids hitting various hands and bodies with brooms, trying to push past the broken windows.
One of her maids ran to her. "My lady! Oh dear…" she gasped at the state of her lady before wrapping a blanket around her.
"I must depart. We can't hold them much longer," another crash sounded, making them all wince.
"But go where, my lady?" the maid's voice was shrill and panicked.
Charlotte looked around at the chaos—the hands holding forks and lighters sticking through the door gaps, and a few maids running to the newly broken window to chase them away.
Charlotte's heart seized at the hopelessness. She looked down at her child, who blinked up curiously, and choked on a building sob.
"I don't know," she choked, defeated.
There was a huge cry of victory as her defending forces fell back on the assault and worked to surround her as the mob poured in.
Charlotte's panicked red eyes stared at the mob, her blood heating. "But I would die before I let them get to my child," she said, jaws clenched.
"Get the witch!" someone cried.
"Seize her!" another joined.
"Quick! Before she casts a spell!"
The instigator with a roll of parchment stepped forward. "Your days of unholy crafts and misfortunes are long waned. Surrender, and receive judgment."
Charlotte gathered spit and threw it in his direction. The mob around him jumped back as if it were acid. "I am nothing but a grieving, widowed mother. You very well know that," she raised her chin and stared daggers with bloodshot eyes.
The elderly man's face twisted in a scowl. "I shall not be bewitched by your slithering tongue."
"If I was truly a witch, I would have cursed you all to be mere rodents and insects before me." The crowd gave a collective gasp.
The instigator's face reddened and he roared—
"Seize her!!!"
"You need to run, milady. Go!"
"Where shall she go?" another maid asked.
"Commander Julius. I'm certain he's a friend of the late Lord. Go to him, milady!"
Charlotte's feet moved before her brain could catch up as the crowd descended upon them. She dashed and pushed against the bodies and grabbing hands that pulled at her white mourning gown, threatening to rip away her coverage, until her bare feet hit the hard stones of the walkway.
She ran across the mansion grounds, covered in dying, once-vibrant flowers, to the nearest exit.
Commander Julius. She knew the man. Knew him too well. A captain of her husband's division who had once made advances on her.
They didn't see eye to eye anymore. Her husband had made sure of that. He had cut ties with his old friend when she complained about him.
Her throat clogged at the bittersweet memories of them together. How he held her in his arms and whispered sweet praises, the comforting scent of him that once wrapped around her. How he went out of his way to bring her favorite flowers from two towns over every day until she had nowhere left to place them. She had playfully shoved aside a flower he recently brought to his chest and complained how the vibrant flowers were overshadowing their kitchen and living space.
Her heart warmed remembering how he placed a flower behind her ear and said warmly, "Not nearly enough. Until I can buy all the flowers to compare to your beauty, and even then they will fall short of the light of your presence."
The memory of her husband brought tears to her eyes. How could one person bring another so much joy? Women hardly married men they cared for, let alone loved. But she had married a man she loved. A rarity. But he was gone too soon—a few months after the birth of their first child.
The scent of rain was thick in the air as her feet hit the cool mud on the rough terrain of the road.
But she had no choice. Had no one to go to. She had been abandoned by her family and looked down on by his for not birthing a boy child. No one would care for what happened to them.
Then why would he?
She chanted this as her feet continued toward his estate. Slipping deeper into slippery mud, her shoes had been lost halfway through the journey.
Because… he owed that much to them, she told herself.
The sky opened up and rain pelted them, the sky rumbling with thunder.
Not being stopped when she ran through the manor gates should have been her first sign. But her capacity to analyze anything had long left her.
Her sweat and the rain had made her dress cling to her, her eyes stinging from the water by the time she reached the steps leading to the entrance.
Two towering guards held her back before she could climb the steps. She tried her best to shield her child from their bruising grip. Strangely, her baby hadn't cried once through the whole ordeal.
"Wait—no, let go of me! I have to speak to Commander Julius!" she thrashed in their grip, her desperation climbing.
"Please. No! Let go. Just one moment. I require his audience." Her pleas fell on deaf ears. One of the guards tried to take her baby, thinking that would lure her away, only to get a sharp jab from her elbow to his jaw.
The man, enraged, raised his arm to strike her when the two heavy double doors opened and a stern voice said—
"Halt."
The guards let go of her and she crashed to the floor on one hand. Her palm stung from the impact with the stones, no doubt scraped and bleeding.
She gathered her mud-stained dress in her bleeding palm and ran up the stairs. She tripped in her haste on the last step but shielded her child and took the landing on her side. Her hip bone ached.
She groaned groggily, a small pained whimper escaping her.
Calm, collected steps moved toward her.
A polished shoe illuminated by a lantern stepped into her field of vision.
The man reached out a hand to help her, and she took it.
"They're coming. The mob is coming. I need—no, we need your help." She uncovered her child's face.
The man stared far into the distance, unfazed by her words.
"Julius!" she cracked. "Please."
Julius looked down at them. His eyes seemed bottomless, making her shiver.
But she was determined to plead her case.
"They claim I'm a witch. You know me. You were once his friend."
"Knew you, Lady Charlotte. I'm not so sure I know the current you."
"Don't do this, Julius. I begged you. If you had spoken up for us, none of this would have happened. You left my husband to go into war when you had the power to stop it. He's dead now, Julius. Dead!"
"And how is that my fault?" Her eyes stung at his detached expression.
"I loved you, Charlotte. Could have given you all your heart desired. Laid the world at your feet. And what did you do? You rejected me," he spat, bitter.
"I'm a married woman, Julius—was," she realized, with a broken cry.
"And you were his friend. I loved him, and you know that. I would have never accepted your offer."
"For someone that needs help, you're not pleading your case quite well."
He met a buzzing silence as the rain continued to pour around them. He curiously peered down to find her shoulders shaking in a sob. His face softened and he held her arms.
"Charlotte—"
A cacophony of voices came from afar, halting his words. They drew nearer. Pitchforks, stones, and extinguished torches raised high as they marched toward them.
"Please… if he was ever your friend, Julius, this would be your time to do him one last favor. Save us." She turned back, worriedly, at the approaching crowd.
Their time was drawing to an end.
She heard Julius sigh at the top of her head.
"The only way to save you… is if you become my property—mine. Marry me, Lady Charlotte."
She startled and shakily looked up at him. He had a smile on his face, and her bones chilled.
No. This can't be. He knew. He—
Her eyes widened.
"You…"
"It seems you don't have much of a choice. You're choosing to save more than your life." He glanced meaningfully at her child.
"I see her!" a rioter announced.
"There's the witch. Let's get her!!"
The crowd was now a few feet away. The voices and marching caused little tremors beneath her body.
If she faced the crowd, they would die.
"I only want to help you. Let me help you," he cooed softly, seeing the light of hope dim and a dark fire ignite in her gaze.
The fight in her was rapidly depleting.
The first stone whizzed through the air and struck her back. She oofed and fell into him. The second was blocked by his hand around her back, and the rest fell around their feet.
One stone whizzed past her too close—narrowly missing her head. Her gaze went dead.
"I accept your proposal, Lord Julius…" she whispered to the wind.
With that, she slumped forward in his arms in defeat, as tears rolled down freely from her dazed, blank eyes.
In that moment, her child started screeching in her arms, her chubby face going bright red with the force of her bellows. Julius turned and shielded them with his body.
Lightning lit the sky, followed by a loud, booming thunder. And above her head, Commander Julius grinned like the demon he was.
At last. He had her where he wanted.
Charlotte was now his… to destroy.