𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞
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The shadows lengthened, stretching like grasping fingers across the worn cobblestones outside the cottage window. Inside, the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm, flickering glow that danced across the simple, yet lovingly arranged furniture.
Maria, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight, moved with a practiced grace, her hands deftly kneading dough on the worn wooden table. The rhythmic thump of the dough against the surface was a comforting sound, a constant in the otherwise quiet rhythm of their small world. The scent of warm bread filled the air, a homely fragrance that usually brought a sense of peace, but tonight, it seemed to hang heavy, thick with unspoken tension.
Luna, a six-year-old girl, nestled on a patchwork quilt spread across the floor, watched her older sister, who is nine-year-old girl, rapt attention, Liahona. Her wide amber eyes, filled with childlike wonder, followed Liahona's every move as she meticulously crafted a small, intricate paper bird.
Liahona's slender fingers, nimble and precise, folded and creased the thin paper, transforming it into a delicate creature that seemed almost ready to take flight. The soft rustle of the paper was the only sound besides the gentle crackling of the fire.
Luna's voice was barely above a whisper as she asked, "Will it really fly, Ate?"
Liahona smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with gentle amusement. "Not quite, little moonbeam. But it will dance on the wind, if we take it outside."
Luna gasped softly. "Can we take it outside now?"
Liahona chuckled, setting the paper bird gently on Luna's lap. "Not yet, little one. It's almost time for supper." Then, a mischievous glint entered her eyes, and she leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Besides, the sprites might be watching."
Luna's eyes widened, darting towards the window where the deepening twilight cast eerie shadows against the glass. "The sprites?"
Liahona nodded solemnly, her expression serious but her tone playful. "Yes. The sprites who live in the old oak tree at the edge of the forest. They come out when the sun disappears, when the shadows are long and the air is still." She paused, adding a touch of drama to her tale. "They are very old, and very wise. Some say they remember the first stars being lit."
Luna shivered, an excited thrill running down her spine. "What do they do?"
"They're very mischievous," Liahona said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They steal shiny things, like buttons and coins. And sometimes..." she paused dramatically, waiting for Luna to lean in closer. "...they steal the stars."
Luna gasped. "The stars?"
Liahona nodded. "Yes. That's why some nights are darker than others. The sprites pluck the brightest stars from the sky and hide them away in their secret glade." She gestured towards the window with a flourish. "They have a whole collection, you know. Hidden in a cave made of moonlight and spider silk."
Luna's imagination soared. She pictured tiny, glittering creatures flitting through the trees, their laughter echoing in the night, their delicate hands reaching up to steal the celestial jewels.
The world outside their cottage transformed in her mind into a realm of magic and mystery, a place where anything was possible. She imagined herself joining them, dancing among the branches, her laughter mingling with theirs.
The cottage, though modest and worn, was their sanctuary. The chipped porcelain teacups, the faded tapestries, and the creaky wooden chairs all held the warmth of a home carefully built by love.
Maria, with her quiet strength and unwavering devotion, had crafted a life of peace for her daughters despite the dark presence that loomed over them.
She had filled their days with stories and laughter, with lessons on herbs and healing, and with the simple joys of a life lived close to nature. Each object in their home, from the hand-stitched quilts to the painted wooden toys, was a testament to her love and resilience.
That presence was Luke. Maria's Husband. Liahona's and Luna's father.
Their father was a man of contradictions-a strikingly handsome man with golden hair and piercing blue eyes that could be both captivating and terrifying. His love was conditional, fleeting, like the sun breaking through storm clouds before disappearing again behind a veil of rage.
Luna, still too young to understand, saw only the man who sometimes lifted her onto his shoulders or gifted her ribbons, the man who told her she was his little star, his moonbeam.
Liahona, however, knew better. She had seen the darkness in his eyes, the way his smile could vanish in an instant, replaced by a cold, hard stare. She had learned to read the subtle shifts in his mood, the tightening of his jaw, the clenching of his fists.
And tonight, something was different.
The air was thick, suffocating, as if the very walls of their home could sense the storm brewing. The usual comforting sounds of the cottage-the crackling fire, the gentle hum of Maria's voice-were overshadowed by a tense silence. Maria kneaded the dough a little harder, her shoulders tensing with every sound Luke made as he moved through the house. The rhythmic thumping of the dough against the table became a frantic beat, a desperate attempt to drown out the growing unease.
"Luna, darling," Maria said suddenly, her voice soft but urgent, a slight tremor betraying her calm facade. "Why don't you go upstairs with your big sister? It's nearly bedtime."
Luna pouted. "But ate was just telling me about the sprites!"
Liahona placed a finger to Luna's lips, her expression unreadable. "We can finish the story tomorrow, little moonbeam. Let's go see if the moon is shining." She rose, taking Luna's hand, her touch cool and reassuring. "We can look for the sprites' cave from the window, too."
Taking her sister's small hand, Liahona guided Luna towards the narrow staircase. As they ascended, Luna stole one last glance at their mother. Maria offered a reassuring smile, but there was something in her eyes-a silent plea.
Go. Now. Don't look back.
Upstairs, their bedroom was a small but cozy space, the moonlight casting gentle silver beams through the window. Liahona lit a candle, its glow flickering against the walls, creating the illusion of dancing spirits. She drew the curtains slightly, allowing just enough moonlight to illuminate the room while still providing a sense of privacy.
Luna climbed into bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin. "Tell me more about the sprites," she whispered, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Liahona hesitated, listening. Below them, the murmur of voices had grown sharper, the tension coiling tighter like a snake preparing to strike. She could hear the faint clinking of glass, the sound of a decanter being poured. She knew that Luke was drinking, and that was never a good sign.
She sat beside Luna on the bed, her voice soft, melodic, distracting. "The sprites..." she began, "...are made of stardust. The brightest ones glow like the fireflies in summer, and the tricksters-"
A sharp crack echoed through the cottage. It sounded like something breaking, something fragile.
Liahona stiffened. Luna flinched, her small hands clutching the quilt.
Then came their mother's voice-soft, pleading.
"Luke, please..."
Another crack. A thud.
Liahona's heart pounded. She knew what was happening. She had heard this before, the sounds of her father's anger, the way it filled the house like a suffocating fog. But this time, it sounded worse, more violent.
Luna's eyes were wide, confused. Too young to understand the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of their seemingly peaceful life.
Liahona placed a hand on her sister's head, smoothing back her curls. "Shh, little moonbeam. Just listen to the story." Her voice wavered, but she forced it to remain steady, a shield against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.
"The sprites..." she continued, swallowing down the lump in her throat, "...they guard the biggest star of all. But one night, a storm came. The wind howled, the trees shook, and the sprites had to fight to protect their treasure..." She imagined the sprites, tiny and brave, standing against the storm, their light flickering but never extinguished.
Downstairs, a chair scraped against the floor. A muffled sob. A heavy footstep. The sounds were becoming clearer, more distinct, each one a hammer blow against Liahona's fragile composure.
Liahona's breath hitched. She knew what that sound was. She had seen it before, the bruises that bloomed on their mother's skin, the way she would wince when she moved too quickly. Their mother... falling.
Luna whimpered, curling closer, her small body trembling.
Liahona's voice was barely a whisper now. "And the storm... it tried to steal the star. But the sprites, they-"
A sharp intake of breath. A gasp.
Luke's voice, low and seething. "You think I don't see the way he looks at you?!" His words were slurred, but filled with a venom that made Liahona's blood run cold.
"...Luke, stop. Please." Maria plea,
Another dull thud. A choked cry. The sounds echoed through the small cottage, each one a sharp, agonizing reminder of the violence that had become a part of their lives. Liahona's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.
She knew what those sounds meant, the sickening thuds, the muffled cries. She had seen the bruises that bloomed on her mother's skin, the way she would wince when she moved too quickly, the way she tried to hide the pain behind a forced smile.
Luna whimpered, curling closer, her small body trembling. Even in her sleep, she sensed the tension, the unspoken fear that permeated the air.
Liahona's voice was barely a whisper now, a fragile thread of sound against the growing darkness. "And the storm... it tried to steal the star. But the sprites, they-" She paused, her throat tight with unshed tears, her voice choked with the fear she tried so desperately to conceal.
A sharp intake of breath. A gasp.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Luke's voice, low and seething, cut through the air like a jagged blade. "You think I don't see the way he looks at you?!" His words were slurred, thick with the venom of jealousy and the bitter taste of self-loathing. "You think I'm blind?"
"Luke, you're mistaken," Maria pleaded, her voice trembling but firm. "There's no one else."
"Don't lie to me!" he roared, his voice thick with rage, rattling the very walls of their small cottage. His heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor as he advanced on her, his presence suffocating. "I saw you! Laughing, smiling, like you were some... some common wench!"
"I was merely being polite," she said, keeping her voice steady, though the fear coiled in her stomach like a snake ready to strike. "The peddler was kind."
"Kind?" Luke repeated, the word twisting with venom. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared.
His fists shook at his sides, but Maria barely had time to react before he lunged. His fingers tangled in her thick, dark hair, yanking her head back with a brutal jerk. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as pain seared her scalp.
"He was looking at you, Maria," Luke hissed, his breath hot and foul against her face. "He was looking at you like... he wanted you."
Maria's heart pounded against her ribs. She knew that look in his eyes-the same twisted, possessive gaze that had haunted her for years. He didn't see her as a wife, a partner, or even a person. She was his, something to be kept, controlled, owned.
"Luke, please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're imagining things. You're scaring the children."
"Scaring the children?" He scoffed, then barked out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Good. They should be scared. They need to learn that disobedience has consequences."
His grip on her hair tightened, yanking harder, forcing her to arch her neck painfully. A whimper escaped her lips, but still, she did not give him the words he wanted.
"You belong to me, Maria," he snarled. "Say it."
Maria clenched her jaw. "No."
The first blow was sudden, a brutal slap that sent her head whipping to the side with a sharp crack. A burst of white light exploded behind her eyes, and the force of it made her stagger. Fire bloomed along her cheekbone, spreading hot and fast, the sting deepening as blood welled in the corner of her mouth.
Before she could recover, his backhand came just as viciously, his heavy ring splitting her lip with a sharp, wet snap. The metallic tang of blood flooded her tongue. Her head snapped in the opposite direction, the pain vibrating down her spine.
Then came the fist.
A solid, crushing blow to her ribs, the impact sinking deep into her flesh like a hammer against brittle wood. Air whooshed from her lungs in a strangled gasp. A second hit-lower this time-drove into her stomach with brutal precision. The pain was instant and unbearable, coiling through her like a burning wire. A wretched gag tore from her throat as her body instinctively folded inward, her arms wrapping around herself in a desperate attempt to shield against the next attack.
It didn't matter.
Luke's hand fisted in her thick, dark hair and yanked her upright before she could crumple completely. A sharp cry broke from her lips as searing pain ripped across her scalp. Her spine arched against the strain, her neck burning with the force of the pull. The world tilted violently around her, dizziness creeping in as her body struggled to keep up with the punishment.
"Say it," he commanded, his voice eerily composed, as if he had all the time in the world to carve her down to nothing.
Maria trembled. The left side of her face pulsed in agony, her ribs screamed with every shallow breath, her stomach twisted in sickening knots. Warm blood dribbled from her lip, slipping down her chin. Her ears rang, the edges of her vision tinged with darkness. She knew the worst part was coming.
She refused.
The next slap sent her sprawling.
Her skull struck the wooden floor with a sickening thud, a bolt of white-hot pain searing through her skull. A sharp cry wrenched from her throat as her vision went black for half a second before blurring back into focus. The impact rattled through her bones, leaving her gasping, disoriented. She tried to push herself up, but her arms shook violently beneath her weight. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she struggled to stay conscious.
Then his boot slammed into her ribs.
A choked scream tore from her lips as pain detonated through her body. The force of the kick sent her rolling onto her side, her hands clutching at her battered torso. Her ribs throbbed with an unbearable ache, each shallow breath a fresh agony. She coughed, and a fresh splatter of blood stained the wooden floor beneath her.
Luke crouched beside her, his fingers twisting into her hair once more, yanking her head back. A sob tore from her lips, her body jerking weakly in protest, but she had nothing left. His breath was hot and thick with alcohol as it ghosted over her ear.
"Say. It."
Tears burned down her cheeks, hot trails of humiliation and defeat. Her lips trembled.
His fingers twisted, pulling harder, sharper.
A broken, breathless sob escaped.
"I..." Maria choked out, her voice barely recognizable through the pain. "I belong to you."
The words shattered something inside her, the last frayed edges of her spirit curling in on themselves like burned paper.
Luke released her abruptly, and she crumpled to the floor like a discarded doll, her arms wrapped around herself, her body shaking uncontrollably. She wiped at her tears with weak, trembling fingers, as if she could scrub away the shame, the fear, the helplessness.
"That's my girl," Luke murmured, satisfied.
Maria curled in on herself, silent sobs wracking her body. Even as she obeyed, a tiny ember of defiance remained buried deep inside her. He may have broken her tonight, but one day... one day, she would be free.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Upstairs, Liahona's breath hitched. She heard the sharp slaps, again, and again, again...
The single word that echoed the silent rebellion she had long held in her heart. She knew what was coming, the inevitable violence that followed any act of defiance.
She tightened her grip on Luna, her small body trembling with a fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted to scream, to run downstairs and protect her mother, but she knew it was futile. She was just a child, powerless against the storm that raged below.
"The sprites never gave up," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "They protected their star, no matter what." She imagined the sprites, tiny and brave, standing against the storm, their light flickering but never extinguished. "They fought with all their might, with all their courage."
Below them, something shattered, the sound sharp and violent, like the breaking of glass. Luna flinched again, her little body trembling, her sleep disturbed by the echoes of violence.
Liahona pulled her close, her voice barely above a breath. "Go to sleep, little moonbeam. I'll keep the sprites away." She smoothed Luna's hair, her touch gentle and soothing, a desperate attempt to shield her sister from the darkness that threatened to engulf them.
As Luna's breathing slowed, slipping into uneasy slumber, Liahona sat rigid, eyes unblinking, staring at the candle's flickering flame. She didn't sleep that night. She listened. She waited. She felt every sound, every muffled cry, every heavy footstep, each one a hammer blow against her fragile composure.
She thought of her mother, her quiet strength, her unwavering love. She thought of the stories she told, the songs she sang, the way she always found a way to make their small world feel safe and warm. She thought of the sprites, tiny and brave, guarding their star against the storm.
She knew that one day, she would have to be strong, just like her mother. She would have to protect Luna, to shield her from the darkness that lurked in the shadows. She would have to be the light that guided them through the storm.
The night stretched on, long and agonizing, filled with the echoes of violence and the whispers of fear. Liahona sat vigil, her eyes fixed on the flickering candle flame, her heart heavy with the weight of the night. She was just a child, but she knew that tonight, she had crossed a threshold. She had seen the darkness, and she knew that it would never truly leave them.
The night wore on, the hours passing like an eternity. Liahona's eyes grew heavy, her body weary, but she refused to close them. She would not sleep. She would not let her guard down. She would keep watch, until the storm had passed, until the dawn broke, until the darkness retreated.
She was the guardian of the night, the protector of her sister, the keeper of the flame. And she would not falter.
The sounds below had ceased, leaving a heavy, oppressive silence in their wake. Liahona strained her ears, listening for any sign of movement, any indication of what had transpired. But there was only silence, a deep, unsettling silence that hung in the air like a shroud.
She knew that the storm had passed, but she also knew that the damage had been done. The wounds, both physical and emotional, would linger, a constant reminder of the violence that had shattered their peace.
She looked at Luna, her face peaceful in sleep, her small body curled beneath the quilt. She wished she could protect her sister from the darkness, shield her from the pain, but she knew that was impossible. They were bound together, their fates intertwined, and they would have to face the darkness together.
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