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“Thank you,” Cyprian says, stepping closer and reaching out to gently lift my chin with one finger. I stare up into his eyes for a long moment before pulling away.
“I-It was nothing.”
“Hazel—”
I don’t stay long enough to hear what he says as I rush from the room, shame and heat coloring my face.
I finish the rest of my chores with a haphazard disregard for my own thoroughness, only daring to venture nearer the house again when I hear Merelda shouting.
Ducking behind a tree, I watch as Cyprian exits the front door, yanking his arm out of his mother’s grasp as desperately tries to stop him from leaving.
“Cyprian, get back here this instant! I’m warning you, if your father hears about this—”
“My father?” Cyprian laughs bitterly, whirling on her. “Myfather is dead, or have you forgotten that already?”
Merelda doesn’t answer for a moment as she takes a menacing step toward her son.
“You will not speak to me like that,” she hisses. “I am your mother, whether you like it or not. You’ll never understand what I’ve had to do for you—”
“No, you’re right about that,” Cyprian cuts her off, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ll never understand.”
With that, he turns and storms out of sight as Merelda screams after him to no avail. When it’s clear he’s not coming back, she suddenly grows calm. Her face blanks as she brushes back several loose strands of hair before turning back into the house.
The door slams shut, and I all but breathe a sigh of relief.
My relief is short lived though as I make my way down to the chicken coop, only to remember what she’s ordered for dinner. Of all the things I have to tend to, butchering is the one task that never gets any easier.
I understand it’s a necessity of life, but it’s been harder since I’ve had to start butchering the hens. They were raised for eggs, and I’d always thought of them as my friends, not to be eaten.
Pulling a handful of scraps that I’d collected while cleaning the ants from the pantry earlier from my apron pockets, I scatter them across the ground. My eyes trained on the single piece of apple lying in the midst.
This was how I chose which chicken would be killed to feed my step family, by leaving their lives up to fate.
The hens cluck gratefully, and I watch them tearfully until they’ve finished every last morsel before ushering them into the coop for the night.
Tears blind my eyes as I sink to my knees in front of the hen who’d eaten the bit of apple.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I choke, gently reaching out to pet her before tucking her into the crook of my arm. “I’m so, so sorry, Florence.”
Leaving the coop, I walk slowly back up to the house as I continue to pet Florence and whisper sweet memories of our time together. My heart is breaking in my chest, but I refuse to let it show as I tell her everything that I love about her.
Entering the kitchen, I set Florence down on a wooden block.
“Here you go, sweet girl,” I say, pulling out a few blackberries I’d plucked earlier and placing them in front of her so that her back is to me.
Florence excitedly pecks at the berries as I turn to grab a sharpened knife. Gathering my courage, I wait until she’s nearly done before quickly and cleaning cutting her life short.
I haven’t even set the knife down before the door the kitchen is thrown open, Merelda now filling the space.
“Forget dinner,” she says. “I have a headache and will be retiring to my rooms. Amadeus won’t be back until late, and gods know when Cyprian will return.”
“But I’ve already killed one of the chickens,” I stammer.
Merelda gives me a look of disgust.
“And? What use is it to me now?”
With that, she spins on her heel, the door swinging shut behind her.
