Chapter 16 - The Woman They Call Beowulf Part 1

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When I was a little girl, my Mother would tell me stories before bed—beautiful stories of heroes and villains, a magical world full of wonder and chaos. I would get lost in those stories, make my own, and imagine what would happen if the heroes lost if darkness won, and if evils might rule all.

That's what all our lives are; stories are still being told until the final chapter. I can see these stories; they guide me, shape my own and change others. I thought such stories of chaos and destruction were left on the pages of my books, but once I gained sight of my Cursed Technique, I saw it all. I saw it in my Father first, the untamed chaos seeding its way through his heart. Raw evil burrowed away, begging to be let out. I couldn't face him from that day; I couldn't allow my story to connect to his.

I think he knew that too; he cornered me off from the rest of the Family, and he stopped me from being with you. Your Sister forbidden to see her little Brother. When he died, I thought it was over; that potential chapter of chaos struck from the record, and we were safe.

But then I saw it in you. His story has been passed onto you; it was the same, no worse. His was untamed, unrefined; yours was bleeding. Ready, it was too much for me, and I ran from the Kronos Family. I was afraid, afraid of what you would become, what you are. I met others on my travels, those who helped me refine my own story and morph into one I was proud of. All for one purpose.

I know how your story ends; I see what happens if you are allowed to open that box. I know what comes, a story as my Mother told me before bed- horrific stories with no heroes nor villains, a cursed world full of death and chaos. We would all get lost in that story; I had to make my own and imagine what would happen if the heroes won if the darkness inside you lost, and if good stood tall.

That box is a curse, one that could bring the end of everything. There is no salvation with that box, no grand plan, just death and chaos. I've read enough stories to know the outcome.

My Mother would tell me stories before bed. It's how I got my name, Beowulf, and the story of a brave hero who defeated a monster. I knew from the day I saw you, Brother, that this isn't your story; it's mine.

I'm the hero, and you're the monster I must slay.

****

My hands were still trembling as I continued to stare at my Mother. She hadn't looked a day older since I last saw her, and she was in perfect health. I had 101 questions bursting through my head, but all I could get out was a single word.

"Why?"

Mother looked a little bleak. She tried to smile but quickly failed as she cupped her hands together, responding. "It was to protect you, dear, we..." She paused, the words leaving her.

"Protect me... Protect me? How is making me think you were dead for five years protecting me!?" I roar, slamming the table, my eyes twitching; I couldn't believe the words; all of this was bullshit; I couldn't accept it. "I was there, I buried your body, I mourned you, just what the hell were you doing this whole damn time!?"

Beowulf looked just as troubled, curling her fingers into her dress, only able to get out a muffled sentence. "We're sorry, Y/N."

Mother took a deep breath, looking at DK, uncomfortable having her present during this argument. "DK, dear, can you please give us some privacy? I wish to discuss the matters with my Son closely."

DK seemed hesitant about arguing like she always does, only for me to speak up. "It's alright DK, I won't be long. Start packing; we'll be leaving soon."

DK just nodded, leaving as it was just left with my two family members who betrayed me. "You look well. Have you been eating enough?"

"Aye, I eat. Am I going to have Father walk through the doors next? My dead cat? Please don't tell me you faked my cat's death."

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