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Downstairs, the front door opens and closes, interrupting my thoughts, and I kick into gear. Dinner is late, and that will mean the belt if Father is in a bad mood. Normally, the possibility would send a chill of excitement up my spine, but for the first time in my life, I don’t want his attention or his filthy cock anywhere near me. I’ll have to fake it. I quickly dress and flash a convincing smile into the mirror before leaving the bathroom and bounding down the stairs into the living room.
“Welcome home, Daddy. How was your day?” I stand before him, eyes downcast, and wait for him to acknowledge me.
“Hot,” He places the knuckle of his index finger under my chin and lifts my face to his, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Were you a good girl for me today, Carwen?”
“Of course,” I clasp my hands in front of my stomach, bouncing lightly on my toes just like every other day. “I missed you.”
“I was just in the shop across the yard,” He yanks me flush with his body, and I gasp, caught off guard, “But I’m here now. Give me some love, and then let’s have a quick dinner. While I was working, I reconsidered what you said, and I think you’re right.” He kisses me roughly, stealing my breath and thoughts as his tongue paints a convincing illusion full of devotion, but now I know his taste is tainted by sin and flavored with his deviant desires eager to pull me under their spells. So, I focus on what I know of where he’s been instead of the aching need building between my legs.
“Stew alright?” I ask, easing from his embrace and putting distance between us under the guise of making him food. “You enjoyed it the other night, and I don’t want the rest going to waste. Plus, you said you want a quick dinner…” I trail off with a wink, take a small saucepan from the cabinet, and place it on the stovetop without awaiting his answer. It’s one of his favorites and should keep his mood pleasant enough for the remainder of the evening as long as I’m careful not to set him off.
“Stew is perfect.” He grins and sits at the table, pulling his knife and a small piece of wood from his pocket, and begins whittling away at a design only he can see this early in the process. “You aren’t going to ask why I said you were right?” He asks with a raised brow, not looking up from his task.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” I stir the pot once more, rinse the spoon, and leave the dinner to simmer before taking the three steps to stand before him. “You were saying?”
“It’s time we grow our family.” He studies me, waiting for my excitement, but I freeze, and his face suddenly reddens when I don’t respond the way he thinks I should.
“Is that a problem? I thought you were ready for children? Begging me for a baby so often that you were practically hanging off of my cock.” He stands, knocking the chair to the floor, and I panic.
“Yes!” I quickly kneel, folding my hands in my lap, and bow my head. “Yes, Daddy, forgive me. Of course, I want to have your children, I just didn’t expect such a wonderful announcement this evening. You surprised me, that’s all. Thank you,” I plead, and he grabs me by the hair, yanking my head back roughly without a word, and stares into my watering eyes.
“You do.” He nods, releasing me, and smooths over my ruffled hair lovingly. “Take off your clothes. I want to see you while I eat,” he says, returning to his chair, and kicks his feet up on the table with a loud thud, resuming his task, and I do just as my husband commands.
The loss of my clothes is a punishment and what should be a reward- preparing for his gift to me. Because tonight, on the eve of our undoing, we will try to conceive a child.
2
I slowly slideout of bed, taking extra care not to wake Alastor in my quest for knowledge. I know my husband, and he wouldn’t have let anyone walk away from our home without at least keeping tabs on their whereabouts. I know why I trusted him so completely before my trip to the cellar, but I’m still furious with myself. In my youth, I never would have considered such treachery possible from one of our men, but I haven’t been that child for years, yet I remained blind. I allowed myself to ignore what has been right in front of me the entire time. I broke rule two… but perhaps he hasn’t.
Rule Two: Know those who aim to corrupt and destroy your home as you know yourself.
Haden’s perfidy and mother’s natural inclination towards sinful feminine wiles were an unexpected hit to our family, and ignoring their abandonment as he instructed my young heart to do isn’t something an intelligent man like my husband would have actually done himself. He keeps immaculate records of all of his business transactions and clients, so it would stand to reason that anything he would have found on our missing members would be fully documented as well. I just have to find out where he keeps such documents.
I creep from the room, pausing at our bedroom door to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest; he is still sleeping undisturbed, thanks in large part to my mother Maribel and her noted addition of Valerian root, Lavender, and passionfruit to his nightly tea. Mother may have been a treacherously conniving woman, but even Father was unaware how deeply her deception ran. I may not remember what her face looks like or the way her hands must have felt smoothing the knots from my unruly hair as a child, but I do remember her fondness for herbs. Every berry and every leaf harvested was dried, labeled, and stored meticulously; and with each concoction, a matching section in her codex- a large, ratty-looking book held together with a thick ribbon with frayed edges and hand-stitched at the spine. Why she chose this method is still a mystery to me since Father has always allowed blank notebooks for sketching and writing as well as approved reference books, but I’m glad that she did. While trying to fill empty hours during an exceptionally rainy spring afternoon, I stumbled upon the book and decided to work my way through her scribbled observations since Father enjoys a warm cup of tea before bed and on colder mornings. Once I realized she had grown every plant described on the pages in her own gardens, I set out to revive her then neglected greenery. The upkeep was fairly simple once I had gotten everything weeded and in order; it was the harvest, prep, and storage that was tedious. Cutting, chopping, smashing, drying, boiling, canning, and shelving took ages, but watching Alastor take that first drink of fresh tea and earning his smile of approval made it worth every minute I had spent back then.
Now, I have far darker intentions for mother’s book, and tomorrow, I am planning on taking a hike down to the Chasteberry trees that grow by the creek beds beyond Alastor’s barn workshop to put her other plants to good use. According to Maribel’s notes, adding the dainty Chasteberries to his evening cup will make his cock completely useless and keep his tainted seed out of my womb until I am able to find Leiv. Hopefully, he will blame it on exhaustion since he has a large order to fill by the end of the month, and I’m just grateful that I have a lifetime of earned trust on my side- because if I’m discovered before I can finish this and set things right, I have no doubt that he will kill me.
I slowly make my way down the hallway to his office, deliberately stepping over each of the loose, creaking floorboards to remain soundless in my escape. If he notices that I’m missing from our bed, he will assume I’ve done what I would any other night that I can’t stay asleep and I’ve snuck away to paint the stars. So, I slip into my art room and open the window leading to the roof just in case he stirs and decides tonight is the night he actually wants to check on where I have gone. Luckily, I can still reach the same section of overhang from his office windows if I need to make a quick escape.
I love the upstairs room my father outfitted for me with a large table he claimed was taking up too much space in his own shop and all of the paints, canvases, sketchbooks, and other art supplies he found one spring afternoon while delivering a custom bookshelf to a client in town. It was a box of used, but well-cared-for items he purchased for my birthday to help me follow rule four.
Rule Four: Women must always keep busy. Unfocused minds and lazy bodies are likely to fall from the path.
Alastor and I both love the process of creating beautiful things from raw supplies. We’ve always been able to connect in this way, and I am truly grateful for all of the times we would sit and talk about our projects, making small suggestions to one another’s work when one of us feels stuck. Like unrefined wood on his table, pallets of color in my hands contain a treasure trove of possibility, and as soon as I discovered what he had built for me here, I began putting paint to canvas, paper, and walls, detailing every star in the sky, hoping to one day fill the walls of our still empty nursery. I put my heart and soul in these pigments. My future children will never fear the dark or know the uncertainty of walking into the unknown because I have painted them a shimmering atlas to navigate the abyss.
I creep back out of my art room, closing the door fully behind me, and walk to the room directly beside it- Father’s office. I am forbidden from even looking inside this space, let alone stepping foot in here, and if he so much as catches my scent within these walls, my punishment will be severe. This level of disobedience would almost certainly mean days without food and sunlight, not to mention a beating that would take weeks to recover from, so I need to search fast and be extremely thorough in covering my tracks. I anxiously open the door no more than six inches and slide through, manually turning the knob back into place when it closes to avoid the echoing click of the latch falling back into place, and then scurry over to his desk. Where do I even start? I gaze around the shadowed room and decide the most logical place for me to start would be inside his desk. He wouldn’t leave such a private log sitting among the other reference books on his shelves, though that would make my search far easier.
I take a deep calming breath and slide the top drawer open, I examine all of the contents thoroughly and then deliberately place each item back exactly as he had left it. When I get to the bottom right section, I close my eyes, praying the information I need is within this drawer, and pull it open. First thing I see is a small black book, and I gingerly lift it so I don’t disturb any of the random papers or photographs underneath. This book feels different from the others- as if it’s filled with secrets so dark the pages are nearly crumbling under the weight of carrying such guilt. I warily cradle the book in my hands and walk over to the window, I delicately crack open the journal and trace the lines of the masculine handwriting with my index finger under the crescent moon’s dim light.
I read quickly, skimming over the sections of angrily jotted notes, looking for Leiv’s name.
‘Not improving… Deceitful… violent outbursts… uncontrollable…’
My interest is peaked, but there is no time to read this page, I need to find more about Leiv. I flip quickly through the pages, looking for mother, Haden, or my brother’s names. When I’ve neared the end of the book, I see it.
“There!” I gasp under my breath, quickly reading over the entry.
‘Leiv… hidden… safe… left in town…’
