Weaving Assumption & Intentions Ch. 05

CHAPTER 17

Raphael arrived in haste, desperation guiding each step. The door already ajar--open just enough to suggest warning, not welcome. Grey smoke curled out like a specter, choking the light before it reached him. The scent of burnt bacon struck first, scattering his hungering questions.

The shrill kitchen alarm shattered the silence. He bolted to the stove, silencing it with frantic fingers, tossing the sooty pan into the water-filled sink--steam hissing like a wounded thing.

He coughed against the thick air, fumbling with the alarm's stubborn button.

"Where is she? This is unlike her," he muttered, ascending the stairs with heavy, trembling steps. But the rooms gave him nothing--just dust, stillness, and absence.

Then his eyes locked onto something lying on the bed--an envelope, sealed and waiting. His pulse tightened. He sat. The paper was heavy, luxurious. Scented faintly of jasmine. Her scent. And inside, that same unmistakable handwriting. He read:

---

Dear Raphael... or should I say, dear brother,

In the eve of a new life, have you ever wondered if you're being held back by the remnants of an unresolved past? Those fleeting footprints on the sandy beach, where the sneaky sea threatens to erase them with its relentless waves... But have you ever considered that memories are like sand? What you forget might never forget your influence--malleable, adaptable, responding to your unsaid, subconscious intentions. We are what you've molded us into.

Your past isn't unique, Raphael. You may think you've concealed your destiny--masking it as a curse, veiling your blessing, fooling us all. But your strengths and weaknesses--like a spider's web--speak of your flaws. I can't help but weave a web around your naivety.

If you want to change someone's fate, start with yours.

I offer you a chance--just follow your instincts. If you do, you might save your mother.

Yours truly,

Veronica Preystor.

---

The words sank into him like needles. His knees buckled. He dropped, folding into the carpet, soft wool scratching at his skin like some cruel comfort. No ground left to fall to. No dignity left to claw for. The hollow of the house echoed back his heartbeat, thunderous and betrayed. Pain bloomed behind his eyes, choking the breath out of him.

"Vero... nica!" His voice cracked--raw, trembling. "If you lay a finger on her... forget earth. Forget hell. I'll come for you. I'll be your damnation."

He slammed his face into the carpet, clutching its threads like a drowning man. Veins pulsed in his skull, his breath ragged with rage.

"Aaaaah! ... ammphhhh..."

His scream melted into the fabric. Rage burned louder.

He had one chance. One. To break this chain of helplessness. To redeem what little was left. That thought--razor-sharp--anchored him. Cleared the fog.

He rose, breath steady. Eyes red, clouded no more. Regret lingered in their depth--bitter, but not blinding.

Today, he wouldn't stop.

Not again.

CHAPTER 18

---

In the entrapment of passing time, its recurring journey was marked only by numerals, yet its unseen vastness could be felt only by those blinded by their own fears or hopes.

"It's not the end of the world. Just think about what I told you. It's a good start. Only the end will matter--to us more than to you."

Veronica's whisper carried a promise, though Gloria remained shackled, unable to decipher its truth.

A testing gesture followed--a sneaking hand from behind brushed against her belly, and Gloria flinched.

"Imagine what he will think of this, beyond the consequences of responsibilities you unknowingly forsook."

That smooth, insidious voice pressed further, daring her. No one in the room could ignore its elusive lure--not even she.

Those gathered listened closely. The dozen cloaked figures stayed unnervingly still, expressions unreadable. Only the weight in Gloria's palm mattered--the cold, silvery sheen of a blade catching the candlelight.

"You were born to kill. Such is fate for the rest of us."

A deliberate pause.

"I killed your son. My brother by blood. And you did nothing--because deep down, you knew it was inevitable."

Another pause, sharper this time.

"And the truth is... you wanted it."

Gloria's breath hitched.

"Can I even trust a word you say?" Her voice, cracked yet defiant, cut the silence. "You kidnapped me. And that man--he laid his hands on me."

A sharp snicker followed, and her lips curled into a mirthless smile.

"Don't you think--being unwilling is the only freedom I have?"

Words of truth, irrefutably honest even if reserved for the weak.

Veronica offered no immediate reply, instead stroking her belly as she said, "You are my mother. The one who abandoned me. Why shouldn't I claim what is mine?"

Gloria's chest rose and fell; not even the heavy robes could hide the shivers that ran down her spine as those words sank deep.

"Does he know?" Gloria asked--obviously referring to Raphael.

"Yes. Sadly. He does. Thank me for saving you from that argument."

Then--

Skin brushed against skin; a cold sensation slid along the captive's right arm as the devil's fingers covered her reluctant hand clutching the dagger.

Raising Gloria's hand like a puppeteer, Veronica leaned her chin on her shoulder. Before them, the altar bore a naked body, slighted by the cold breeze of the hall.

"Who is she?"

Gloria composed her breath, chin raised high as she peered down at the other unfortunate captive on the altar--an old woman who never blinked, even with a knife hovering above her.

"Don't you remember anything? Doesn't she remind you of someone?" Veronica tilted her head, squinting.

Gloria dropped the knife, her focus shattered by a blinding white light.

And in that moment, a memory long imprisoned at the back of her mind bloomed.

---

The scent of wood and floating dust, illuminated by the noon sun, danced in light sneaking through the gaps of the cage.

A wolf lay on its belly, nonchalantly studying her slow descent into its waiting jaws.

Outside this cage, her mentor spoke, "Look it straight in the eyes. Don't let your fear cower your raised chin--keep those eyes steady... That's what my brother once told me."

Grasping the dagger at hand, both her trembling hands closed into fists, tightened with cold determination.

"But I chose a different system of thought--Deceit."

Gloria walked forward--tiny legs carrying her toward either doom or salvation.

"A spider has eight legs for a reason. Eight different ways to solve a problem without resorting to brute force. A cold, slithering slit of its throat from the shadows is far more efficient."

The young Gloria inhaled sharply--her left hand stretching back as the wolf revealed its fang--but she was too swift. Dust erupted from her throw, blinding its eyes. It growled; she shifted. Rising on its hind legs, a claw swept forward, but she perceived its flaws and, with knife in hand, swiped through its belly.

Blood poured as the animal howled in pain--then fell silent, halted by a gurgling sound.

"A kill must be savored--let the enemy die with your last sight of it."

Gloria stared deep into its reddened eyes--pity and sorrow overwhelming its raw hatred.

She raised a brow as the dagger slipped from its flesh and fell. In that moment, she understood why the beast had never fought back ruthlessly.

Puppies huddled beneath its belly--the wolf mother protecting her own, too young to grasp the cruelty of the world, yet able to hear their mother's final heartbeat. They howled in pain; she stepped back in horror.

Fast, ragged breaths drowned her thoughts until the cage door creaked open.

Step by step, her shoes crunched against twigs and soil.

Then, someone embraced her from behind. "My daughter. You did well. But you haven't finished the job."

Gloria let a solitary tear fall--a dagger lay on the ground, waiting for her decision.

She rose, took it, and with a swift, resolute motion, swiped the dagger at her own mother.

---

Back to the present, suppressed memories of that helicopter crash maimed her conscience as they cascaded over her, forcing her to absorb every shattered fragment.

Veronica distanced herself, watching with detached scrutiny as veins writhed through her mother's forehead.

Beside her, another stood, silently witnessing the unfolding plan.

"Is this what you wanted, father?"

"Don't overestimate me. I knew that bastard would try to use her against that kid--so I took advantage of the situation."

"Aaaaah!" Gloria screamed--those memories refusing to release her, how dare she become another person--a loathing persona incarnate.

Then, an avalanche of silence crashed over them--a reverberating omen of reckoning.

"Who am I?" Gloria whispered to herself. The dagger before her shone with a silver sheen--a mystery not yet understood, yet undeniably a tool.

Rising, her robe tumbled into a disordered heap as she stepped out of it, exposing her naked truth.

Above the captive on the altar, a chandelier cradled the steadfast flames of candles. Emotions leaked in silent cascades from Elysian's eyes as her prodigal daughter slowly claimed the empty vision before her.

"Gloria..."

She could only watch as a dagger drove into her neck--blood sprayed, washing over her skin with a perverse purity.

Elysian's eyes widened in disbelief at this rebel daughter who still burned with untamed fire.

Mother and daughter locked gazes for a final time: "You can't wash the past away, dear mother."

"This is vengeance for that wolf--and your blood isn't enough to erase all my grievances," she whispered, watching the cataracts in her mother's eyes turn gray with regret.

Veronica remained an uninterfering shadow, until William stepped forward, slowly approaching his sister, Gloria.

"Do you remember, Gloria? The true you," he asked, as the cloaked figures watched in silence, time stretching unbearably.

Standing before her, he smiled, his calloused hand cradling her soft cheek.

"I thought I lost you forever." He neared, kissing her tenderly.

She clung to him, returning his kiss with passionate desperation.

Veronica frowned, biting her nail in quiet worry, as saliva lingered between them. Gloria gazed into his fond eyes. "How did I survive?" she murmured.

"Luck. Your father tried to kill you many times after that plane crash, but Ezekiel eased his worries after he sired with you," he replied, his tone heavy with guilt.

"Well, if it's luck," she thought with a tilted head, "what about this..."

"Argggh!" Blood dripped from William's lips--more than before--as his eyes grew wide, fixated on the dark stain on his chest.

Her empty hands found the dagger once more--driving it deep into his heart. He never saw it coming.

"Conniving indeed... No wonder our parents feared you," he chuckled as his knees crumpled. In his final vision, all he saw was the raw, unfiltered evidence of her desire.

He fell, the cold floor swallowing his final breath. He watched as Veronica approached her mother, and then glanced upward, meeting his gaze from above--those lips curving into a mocking smile.

"There is one thing we both agree on, dear father. We hate being controlled."

She mouthed those words slowly, as death crept closer, daring him to respond.

He tried--eyes gouging in reluctant surprise--but his neck muscles betrayed him, allowing his feeble "eyes" to fall upon the dagger.

How many more will fall to that dagger?

He wasn't the first, and knowing this woman, her son wouldn't be spared.

A cruel fate indeed, for that boy.

William Preystor died.