Chapter - 49

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL!"

Her boot slammed into Finn's chest, and air punctured out of his lungs in a choking gasp as he flew backward and crashed into the mud, coughing and wheezing.

"My dress!" the girl shrieked. She jumped down from the carriage, lifting her arm to show the smudged silk to his guards like it was a deadly injury, "He ruined it! He touched me with his filth!"

She jabbed a finger toward Finn, her fingers shaking.

"Get him," she snarled, "Teach him his place. I want him to regret being born."

The guards moved instantly. No hesitation. No question. This was routine for them.

Six heavy armored bodies moved in sync as they closed in.

"No… Wait… Please," Finn choked, curling tight, throwing his arms over his head like they could stop steel, "I am sorry! I am sorry!"

But the guards did not show any mercy. A kick crashed into his ribs and a loud thud made the villagers who were peeking through the gaps of their doors and windows.

"AAAHHH!!!!" Finn's scream tore through the village.

But before the pain could penetrate his bones, another kick hammered his spine.

Then another. And another.

Boots slammed down like they were trying to crush stone. Then the guards used the hilts of their swords, smashing them into bone and skin with cold, practiced rhythm.

Blood splashed into the mud. Slowly a pool of spit, dirt, blood formed a red sludge under Finn's face.

Crack.

Soon, Finn wasn't even left with the strength to scream anymore.

"STOP! PLEASE! He's just a boy!"

Elara burst out of the hut, hair loose, face white with horror. She didn't hesitate. She didn't think twice. She just threw herself on top of Finn, wrapping her thin body over him like a shield.

"Take whatever you want, Young Miss!" she screamed, voice breaking, "Take everything! Take the house! Take the herbs! Just… Please, Young Miss… Have mercy!"

She kept begging, sobbing into the mud, blood spraying as another boot slammed into her back.

"Please… Please… He is all I have left…"

The girl stood a few feet away, watching Finn and Elara scream under armored boots, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet pouch. She opened it casually and popped a sugared cherry into her mouth.

Her eyes never left the scene.

"The old hag too," she said, enjoying the candy, "She raised him wrong. She needs to learn a lesson."

The guards obeyed without hesitation. They came down harder. Elara's body jerked under the assault. Bones cracked like dry twigs. Her screams turned into gurgling gasps as blood filled her lungs.

Finn cried out weakly, reaching toward her with shaking fingers. "G… Grandma… Stop… Please…"

But a boot smashed down on his hand, breaking fingers with a crunch that silenced him instantly.

Elara lifted her head, tears mixing with mud and blood. Her blurred vision caught Old Man Tom hiding behind the closed door, peeking at them.

"Please…" she wheezed. Old man Tom looked at her, straight in her eyes… Then closed the door.

Elara looked around with great difficulty, but all she could see were closed doors.

There were so many of them, but none of them stepped forward.

Not one.

Elara tried to call for help again, but only blood came out of her mouth.

Meanwhile the beating continued as their flesh rippled.

Finally… Finn stopped making any sound at all. His body went limp, twitching once and then still.

Elara slumped forward, shielding him even now, breaths short and ragged.

The girl sighed loudly, flicking sugar dust off her fingers.

"Boring," she muttered. "They are not even making noise anymore."

She pointed lazily.

"Finish it."

The nearest guard stepped up without hesitation. He drew his sword and without a dramatic hesitation plunged it straight down through Elara's back. The blade pinned her to the ground.

He stayed like that for a while before the guard yanked the sword free, wiping it against Finn's shredded shirt before raising it again.

The blade came down again, cutting off whatever was left of Finn's face.

The girl smiled softly, like she had just watched a puppet show.

Her eyes drifted to the small hut with the roof of dry straw. The place Seraphine called home.

"This eyesore offends me," she said, "Burn it. Maybe the fire will clean the stink of these peasants off my clothes."

A guard immediately handed her a torch, already lit.

The girl giggled with an innocent smile.

She tossed the torch casually.

"Oops," she chirped, like a child pretending to drop a toy, "Fire."

The dry straw thatch caught fire instantly, erupting into roaring orange flames that shot skyward.

The girl turned and stepped back into the carriage, careful not to let her dress brush the red-stained mud.

She slammed the door.

"Let's go," she said sharply, "I need a bath."

Old Tom. He was weeping, clutching his hat in his hands.

"We... we couldn't do anything, Seraphine," Tom blubbered, wiping snot from his nose, "They were soldiers. The Lord's men. They had swords. We... we have families."

Seraphine slowly turned her head. She looked at the other villagers gathered behind him.

They were all alive. Unharmed. Their houses were standing.

They had eaten the meat she hunted. They had survived the winter because she shared her kills. They had drank the medicine Elara brewed for them.

But when it was time to repay the kindness, none of them stood up or Elara and Finn.

They had watched a boy be beaten to death for a smudge of dirt. They had watched an old woman be murdered for begging. And they had done nothing.

Something inside Seraphine broke.

The woman who had found peace in this village, the woman who had laughed with Finn and cooked with Elara, looked lost.

"You watched," she whispered.

Her voice was so quiet, so devoid of humanity.

"We... we had no choice, child," Tom pleaded, reaching out a trembling hand to touch her arm for comfort. "You have to understand... the Lord's anger... we were scared..."

Seraphine looked at the hand on her arm. It was a coward's hand.

"You watched them die." Seraphine only had one question.

Her hand moved to her waist. Her fingers closed around the handle of the hunting knife, the same old knife she had used to skin the hare for Finn's birthday.

She moved.

She swung her arm in a tight, horizontal arc.

*Squelch.*

Old Tom's plea was cut off mid-syllable. His eyes went wide, not with pain, but with utter confusion. He tried to speak, but only a wet rasp came out.

A thin, crimson line appeared across his neck, vivid against the dirt and grime of his skin.

For a second, nothing happened. The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, the skin parted.

The old man's head slid sideways. It tumbled from his shoulders, turning in the air, the expression of cowardly pleading still frozen on his face.

It hit the dust with a wet, heavy thud and rolled to a stop at the feet of the Seraphine.

Blood fountained from the severed arteries of the neck stump, spraying upward in a hot, red mist that coloured Seraphine's face. She didn't blink.

The headless body stood for a grotesque second, swaying, before it collapsed forward, hitting the ground with the heavy sound of dead meat.

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