Belladonna - Post Chapter One (Patreon)

Belladonna felt her stomach roll. Pushing aside her goblet, she stared at it for a long moment, her nose wrinkling in disgust. It just hadn’t tasted quite right lately. The blood was too thick and congealed.

“Please, mistress,” someone was begging. “We are not harboring the man in which you speak. Please. We just…”

Their face turned purple as they began to gasp, the necklace around their neck tightening and tightening until their windpipe was crushed. They fell to the ground, thrashing like some bloated fish.  Served them right. Belladonna was pretty certain they had given a room to the trash that was Milo Next. Maybe they hadn’t known it was him, but really, was it Belladonna’s fault that the innkeeper was so stupid? The word had been put out there. Milo was not to live.  The fact that no one had brought him in yet was a bit concerning, however. It meant he was either far more intelligent than she wanted to give him credit for, or the people she employed were just plain stupid.

“Would you like me to clean this up, m’lady.” Gadora said, standing by the carnage.

“Yes, but make sure that you make a display of carrying out the body. I know there are a few downstairs that have been thinking of staging a coup. Please show them how easy it is for me to snap.”

“Yes, m’lady. Of course.”

There was a knock on the door, and Belladonna felt herself sigh in irritation. It was a far busier day than she had expected and she simply did not have the energy for it.

“Come in,” she called, settling herself behind her desk.

The door burst open with a force of heat, a silver boiling fire cascading into the room. Belladonna shot up and out of her seat, while Gadora stood, blocking the light with her hand and putting herself up as a barrier between her mistress and the intruder.

But as the light settled, Belladonna’s eyes grew wide.

A man stood there, his face weathered with the afternoon sun. A straw hat was upon his head and his clothes were that of his Sunday best. A cross shone on his neck and as he looked at Belladonna, it was with such sad eyes.

She rose from her seat, staring at him. “Daddy?” she whispered.

A soft smile came to his lips. “Madeline. Oh, my darling girl. I wish I could hug you.”

She stumbled forward, intent to do just that, but he put up a hand. “No. You cannot touch me, sweetheart. You’ll burn if you do.”

Gadora was still blocking the magic. Whatever this light was. The silver grey dawn over an open field.  Suddenly, Belladonna felt so young again. Staring out at the cow pasture as she watched her father head to the parish for the day. It wasn’t until she was older that she could follow him. Help him with his work.

“Maddie, sweetheart. You need to listen to me. I come with a message.” His eyes were imploring, begging her to not dismiss him just yet. “What you are doing is wrong, my sweet. But there is absolution. You only need to want it.”

Belladonna stared at him. “Excuse me?” The love for her father, a man she hadn’t seen in so very long, was startled out of her at his words.

“Honey, the Knowing is willing to forgive you. To bring you back to the fold. But you need to want that forgiveness. You need to put a stop to all of this.”

“What are you even talking about? Put a stop to what?”

He gestured up and down her form, his eyes averting at the sight of her. There was no disgust. Not disappointment. Only a sad knowledge that he had led her astray somehow. “Everything. Please. I know you’ve lost your way, but it was not your fault. No one can blame you after the terrors you have seen. But there is hope yet. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.”

Belladonna took a step back. “You’re not my father.” Her hands unconsciously came up to her chest where a locket had once laid. She wanted to gaze upon the picture that had been there. To compare it with the image of the man before her. They couldn’t possibly be the same.

“I am,” he said sadly. “I just think you don’t want to hear this.”

“My father is dead,” she barked. “I watched him die because he couldn’t believe his little girl enough to save himself. Whatever you are is just a poor attempt, exacted by the Knowing for hellish reasons. Get out.”

“Madeline.”

“My name is Belladonna. Now get out.”

He looked stricken. Grief flickering across his face in palpable waves. “I love you, my daughter. Please remember that.”

And with that, he faded, and along with him, the light. Gadora let her hand drop, panting deeply. Whatever had just appeared before them had zapped her of a considerable amount of energy.

“What just happened?” she breathed.

Belladonna stood and stared at where her father had once been.  “I don’t know,” she said. Her eyes ticked down to the goblet of blood she had cast aside. Untouched. Just sitting there innocently.

Briefly she wondered how much longer she would be able to hold out.