Belladonna - Post Chapter Twelve (Patreon)

The fires reached high above the market walls, lighting the dark sky and burning the broken lanterns above. They hung from snapping cords, paper melting beneath the heat until they were nothing but ash that drifted away like silent tears.  Belladonna stared at it dispassionately, remembering the glow of their eyes. How they reflected the lights above.  With them buried beneath dirt and memories now, what did it matter if the lanterns were gone? The lanterns had only existed to reflect hypnotically from their gaze. Nothing more.

“Belladonna, you have got to stop this.”

Staring at the flames, she did not turn to the voice of anger, barreling towards her from behind. She dared him to touch her.  She would revel in the consequences of such an action.

Arms crossed, she heard the screams. They were all across the market now.  Blood was spilled within the streets, soaking the cobblestones red while the fire blazed high, a beacon to a man that had two choices. Let death remain his mantle, or, come out of his hiding and answer for his sins.

“Belladonna,” Feebus’s voice was a bark against the surrounding panic.  The gentle giant rarely raised his voice, especially to her. Apparently, this was what she had to do to elicit his anger.  “This is highly unnecessary.” His shadow flickered across her, the light from the fire making him seem bigger than he was.

“Is it?” she asked curiously.

“This is my property, Belladonna. Mine. Whatever you are trying to accomplish with this fiery reign is doing nothing but adding to the fear and destruction across our land.”  The button factory was burning.  One of Feebus’s older ones.  The one he used predominantly years ago when he was still sewing by hand. When he had a young boy in his employment with shaggy curls and amber eyes.

“And what would you like me to do, Feebus?” she asked curiously, watching as her people roamed, free to drink whoever smelled of lies.  And oh so many of them did.  “Would you like me to pretend that the slight your wayward son committed was nothing more than a social faux pas?”

“Milo has nothing to do with here,” Feebus snapped. “He had nothing to do with the bar that you burned down. He had nothing to do with the food carts you have destroyed or with the hovels you have put in ruin. You are going around and burning bits of the market due to your anger alone.”

Her smile was cold as she finally turned to him. The well put together man that he had once been, was nothing more than a frazzled absentee father who knew his son's death would be upon them soon. She still had not decided if she would allow him to bury the boy.  Depended on how much the fae blood begged.

“You think this is due to anger, dear Feebus?” she asked. Her eyes were bright embers shining back at him, her skin flushed with a recent kill.  Belladonna could feel her heart fluttering against her chest as it pumped the fresh blood through her, brining her to fleeting life. “This isn’t about anger. I am well past anger. Something that was mine, was taken from me. And I know who took them. So, I’m not angry, Feebus.  I am merely exacting the justice that no one else is brave enough to do.”

“By destroying public property?” he roared.

“No. But destroying all that was ever important to him. By going to his favorite haunts and burning them to ash. By finding the people he may have confided in and asking them if they are hiding him.  And then, by killing them if I sense a lie. Now, thankfully, until this moment, it does seem like Milo did not involve many in his little plan and so I have only killed the ones that disrespected my love so thoroughly, in one way or another.  But here, Feebus? Your people here seem to know something.” Tipping her head to the side, she could smell the fear over the fire.  “When did he leave?”

Feebus stared at her, jaw clenching. Belladonna wondered if he would hit her.  If he would try to save Milo. Defend his actions.  She hoped not. Belladonna did genuinely like Feebus. It seemed to her that he was also tainted with the cancer that was Milo Next, however.

“He left four days ago,” Feebus said after a moment. “Now you’re going to leave my people alone because the ones that do know something, only know that they saw him lurking one morning when I told him he needed to go.”

Belladonna smiled.  “So you two did have people lie for you then?”

“No, Bella. No one is purposefully lying to you. They are afraid. Fear and lies smell awfully similar. You know that.”

“I do,” she agreed. “But I won’t be taking the chance.”

Behind her, the flames shot higher into the sky as the roof to the old sewing factory lit. The straw that covered the slates went up in flame, floating high into the night to speckle the sky with burning stars.

“If you see Milo, tell him I’m looking for him. Hopefully, he won’t let something like this continue to happen. Would be a shame for all of you to realize how little he does care about you.” Stepping past Feebus, she began walking into the dark. Down alleys that were twisted and crying.  Little offshoots into a world that couldn’t understand what was happening to it and trying so hard to claw for purchase somewhere.

“Belladonna,” Feebus boomed. “Do not make an enemy of me and mine,” he warned.  “You can stop this nonsense as well.”

Looking over her shoulder, she softened her gaze. “I truly do not wish to fight you, old friend. But if your son continues to be the pig that he is, hiding somewhere in the filth while others pay for his sins, then that is the choice we will both have to make.”

The shadows enveloped her as she walked away. Leaving the giant to try and put out the flame. Belladonna didn’t care. Perhaps the smoke plumes would be enough to call Milo home.  Dragging her nails across the stone walls, Belladonna walked into the dark, chaos only a distant echo around her.

“Don’t worry, my heart.  Your pain will stop soon. I'll make sure of it.  And when you return, we will drink Milo’s pain together.  Just hang on a bit longer.”  She patted the stone wall, caressing it lovingly.

Above her, the lanterns remained dark.