My Monday morning started how it always did. Every day the neighbourhood cockerel woke me. A stereotypical country way to wake up, but it saved me from being late every morning. I enjoyed sleeping as much as the next person, and waking up at six was always difficult.
Springtime was coming, and with that came so much to do around the village to prepare for the Spring Market and festival. My village was small, a population of around one-hundred and ninety-six. It was for good reason too; the smaller our numbers, the fewer supplies we needed and the less suspicion. And what do you mean, suspicion, Ailia? Well, I'll tell you.
One hundred and twenty years ago, on a wonderful sunny day in April, the supernatural creatures from our nightmares made themselves known. They were savages, destroyed human villages with no mercy, killing innocent people with no intention. The human population was down by three hundred thousand in a matter of six hours.
The humans retaliated, of course. Being a stubborn race, we fought back for those we had lost. We had armies, weapons and medicines galore, but what we didn't realise was how well the enemy caught up.
There were many creatures out there, lurking in the shadows. The ones that made themselves known were like demons from children's books. First the pale, sickly, red-eyed things we called Fangs. They only hunted at night, raiding homes as we slept. They found bodies drained of blood, their necks broken, or sometimes, never found at all. Luckily, there hadn't been a Fang sighting around here in five years, but they said the creatures to be immortal, only able to die through killing their heart.
Next there were the witches. They seemed like ordinary people to an untrained eye, but I had been told the way to tell a witch was by their pupils; which became slitted when provoked. They were selfish creatures; not choosing a side in the Great War. Witches were prideful, if not boisterous. They were always keen to trap an unfortunate soul into one of their spells or tricks.
Otherwise, there were Fae, things I always believed were like witches. They could enter your mind, destroy your soul, and kill you without touching you. They were beautiful creatures, going by the sketches and photographs we had with our limited supplies. Along with the Fae's that we hardly heard about were ghouls; horrid, flesh-eating monsters that lurked in the dark.
Of course, most of these were folklore, having not seen any personally, and only rarely were they recorded in history. The main enemy of all were the shifters.
Man, who could turn into beast; they were immortal destroyers. With a thirst for human destruction, they could shift to a furred beast at will. Razor sharp fangs and claws, deep furry hides that towered over an ordinary hound. Anyone who came across a were-shifter did not live or return to tell the tale; they were brutally murdered or vanished without a trace.
My father was one of them. Just ten years ago, he and his friends ventured down-stream and got a little too carried away. He was stubborn, resenting the hold of privacy our village forced upon us. My mother had told me he left that morning to go swimming since it was summer, only to have none of them return home. Six of them left that day, and they found only four bodies.
My mother hadn't been the same since. I was nine years old, just a child, and by the age of twelve, I soon learned how much I relied on her. She primed and prepared me for adulthood for those three years and as soon as my twelfth birthday hit; she turned sour. It left me on my own, whilst my mother shrouded herself in her room.
I had taken on so much responsibility at such a young age, one of those being my sister. Arabella was four years younger than me, naïve enough to not know any different. I started the morning by feeding, clothing, and preparing her for school. Once she was at school, I went to work. Most adults in the village had taken pity on me, and it wasn't long before I scored a job in the café in the plaza. I had been excited to tell my mother, but she hadn't been impressed. I never understood why until her mouth spat words of pain.
"No-one would hire someone like you, without you whoring yourself out to them."
I was just a child. I didn't know what she had meant.
I would go to work, earn the money we needed to survive, then collect my sister and take her home for dinner. Luckily, as per village rules, we all received the same pay. Apparently, the world used to have currency, but most of it died down after the wolves took over.
We lived by coins or by selling belongings. For seven hours working in the café as a waitress, not including my lunch break, I would receive two coins an hour. I worked weekends, bringing my younger sibling along until my shift finished. Seven days of work a week gave me around one hundred coins. Our rent was eighty-five a week for a one-bedroom house, but included utilities within that. My mother occupied the bedroom, of course, since it was her sanctuary.
The remaining fifteen coins a week, I would save or spend on groceries. A bag full of vegetables, grains or pastas would cost about seven coins. There were minimal tips; it wasn't a required gesture. Sometimes the odd person would take pity on me, and I'd receive a coin or two for that, but mostly it was just kind words.
As we grew older, my sister wanted to work hours after school. She had begged to leave school to help with income more, but I had been adamant that she got her full education with all her friends. I couldn't let her feel like I did.
We struggled sometimes, living on soup or kind gestures from her friends. Sometimes, Mary, my boss, would give me some food to bring home. She had claimed it was because they were going off, but they always seemed fine to me. Besides, I learned to listen well, my ears tuning into the whispers of nearby villagers.
"How anyone could leave their children to fend for themselves is beyond me." A woman whispered.
"Their mother lost her husband six years ago. Give her some credit for raising a child who actually wants to work and look after her." Another would scoff.
The mountain trees around us protected us from the outside, but not from the inside. Despite being a close-knit community, we all suffered in certain ways. Those with more money sat at the top of the hill. The workers lay at the bottom, nearer to the border.
One day, whilst I was working a shift at the café, something had almost knocked me off my feet. The bell dinged, and I raised my head to greet the customer, only to have my breath catch when a practical stranger walked through.
Dressed in a dark green, knee-length dress, her dark brown hair was pulled tight to her head. Her hazel brown eyes were quick to find me, narrowing slightly at my attire. She looked clean, and I knew I was far from that. My fiery orange hair was in a ponytail, but the wild strands never stayed there for long. I was pretty sure I had coffee stains on my apron, my hands covered in different condiments.
"Ailia, dear, why don't you show me to a table?" The woman smiled.
I knew the smile was fake; it didn't meet her eyes. "Mother? What are you doing here?"
She hardly left her bedroom, only for the bathroom or the occasional piece of food. She never, ever left the house.
She laughed at me. "Ailia, dear, I am here to have a pleasant drink."
I swallowed nervously, knowing the tongue my mother had beneath her faux smiles and cheery laugh. I showed her to a table, hastily placing a menu down in front of her. Bending down so I was closer, the smell of cheap perfume flooded my nose.
"Mother, we do not have money to be eating out." I hissed.
"That is why I shall just have a coffee, dear, on the house, right? You can do that for your mother?" She sneered. "Or too busy working yourself for those extra tips."
I recoiled from her, my face contorting with disgust. I knew I wore my emotions on my sleeve and so tried my hardest to fight the hurt I felt from what she was implying.
"Right away, mother." I smiled through gritted teeth.
I had returned a moment later to fill up her coffee mug, standing there waiting with too many questions. She was staring out of the window with a faint smile on her lips. Raising the mug to her mouth, she hummed.
"Ailia, dear, didn't I teach you that staring is rude?"
"Why are you here?" I asked, gripping the handle of the coffee jug a little too tightly.
"I am just having a nice day. Run along." She dismissed me with a wave of her hand.
I remember that day well, being the week before I turned sixteen. My mother's appearance had been a shock to many people, especially when it continued to happen. She was always grooming herself, going out for walks with her new friends. My mother became fake, someone I was trying to avoid became someone people had gushed about.
In the matter of a week, she had turned the whispers about her poor parenting to those about how good a parent and role model she was. I still to this day do not know how she did it.
She would often come in for a cup of black coffee, never staying for long in the beginning until her friends came too. She insisted on it being 'on the house', which in the end meant I had to use my wages to pay for her days out. I started working full shifts. My sister was old enough now to go home alone, which meant I had more freedom. Mary had allowed me to cook in the kitchen on weekends to help the chefs with their workload, and it gave me an extra coin an hour, so I had jumped at the chance.
The day of my sixteenth, I woke up ready for work like any other day, but my mother had stopped me at the door.
"What is it?" I sighed, adjusting my apron.
"Me and you are going out for dinner with some friends. What time do you get off?"
I had been sceptical at first, not trusting my mother's over-friendly tone. I spent all day at work over-thinking that something was going to happen. Once I got off my shift, I walked my way down the village's rock infested road with nerves growing in my stomach. My mother was already waiting by the front door, dressed in a pretty, ankle length dress and high heels. She handed me a black dress of my own, telling me to sort my hair out.
"Where are we going?" I asked once dressed. "We don't have the money for dinner out."
"Not for long." She had jeered. "Now come!"
I jumped into step behind her, casting glances at her faux smile as we walked back up the main road. We kept going and going, and my hands began to sweat when we got to the rich end. I'd never be able to afford dinner from one of this restaurant. It was strictly a night-time restaurant for the richer, with lavish foods and dim lights.
She came to a stop by a building called Oregano. The orange glow of light lit up the inside and caused my stomach to flip. Walking inside, I adjusted the dress on my waist, feeling self-conscious and dirty inside such a white place. A waiter by the door greeted us, a towel of sorts over his elbow.
"Ah, Mrs Thorne-
"Please, Miss Thompson will do."
My eyes widened at my mother's words. Thorne was my father's name. Was she revoking their marriage? What was going on?
"Apologies, Miss Thompson, follow me. Your table is already waiting." The waiter bowed.
My mother shot me a look to behave and not question her further, so I swallowed my pride for now out of curiosity. I was always too curious and nosey for my own good. They led us around the restaurant to the very back and my eyes widened when I came across the three figures already sat there.
"Thank you." My mother murmured as the server stopped by their table.
"Ah! Alison, glad you could make it." A familiar gentleman greeted us.
George Chester was a large man. His hair was dark and kept neatly shaved and styled upon his head. His wife, Jenny, was blonde with dazzling blue eyes that widened with glee when she saw my mother. She was one of the new 'friends' my mother had been attending lunches with. Beside them was their son and when his brown eyes raised to study me, a shiver ran across my bones.
I had a bad feeling about this.
"This must be your wonderful daughter that I've heard so much about." Jenny smiled as we sat.
"Yes, this is Ailia, my eldest." She mused, and I smiled in response.
"Such wonderful hair!" She gushed, staring at my orange waves.
"Thank you." I smiled softly.
The dinner passed slowly. Most of the time I stayed quiet, only answering if someone asked me a direct question. I impressed them with my energy and mind to work so hard and look after my sister. But the strange unease never left, despite the number of smiles and laughter that flooded the table.
Just as we were about to leave, my mother cleared her throat.
"It's been a pleasure having dinner with you." She smiled.
"The pleasure is ours! Welcome to the family!" Jenny grinned, causing my mother to grin and thank her.
"Family?" I wondered, looking at my mother.
"Oh Alison, haven't you told her?" Jenny laughed.
"I wanted to surprise you, dear!" My mother faux smiled at me as her eyes held a warning.
"Surprise me?" I repeated.
Her right eye squinted slightly, but she hid it with a wide grin and too many blinks to be normal. I swallowed at the intense look she gave me, knowing I would not like what she was about to say.
"Yes, dear, surprise you." She smiled softly. "Darius is to be your husband."
I choked on my breath, my eyes widening in shock. Husband? Marry? Darius? The silent brown-eyed man sitting opposite me, did not react.
"Husband?" I shrieked.
My mother shot me a glare, and I shrunk into my seat. I noticed both Darius and his father were watching the exchange curiously and I cringed away from their over-analysing glare.
"Yes, dear, Darius has been so kind to offer his hand in marriage and as your guardian, well, I couldn't not accept that. A perfect fit you will be." My mother gushed.
My face paled, my throat running dry as I locked eyes with her glare. Did I have no say in this? No say in who I got to spend my life with?
After some final pleasantries, we left with tense smiles. As soon as we were through the front door back home, my mother turned her scowl to me. I flinched when her hand came down to smack my cheek, tears brimming in my eyes at the contact. I cupped my face with shock, staring at her wide eyed.
"You embarrass me. Do not speak to me in public unless I give you permission. Is that clear?" She asked.
"Yes." I squeaked, noticing my younger sister watching wide-eyed from the sofa.
"You are to marry Darius, and that is final." She huffed, straightening her hair. "As soon as you are married, you will no longer be my problem."
"Do I not get a say in this?" I glared. "I don't even know the guy!"
"That is why you will court him for the next two years, and be his wife when you are eighteen. You will be out of my hair, and I will have a nice secure home and finances." She snapped.
"So, you're selling me?" I spat, barking a laugh. "You would sell your own daughter! What about Arabella?"
"She is well-educated with good morals. When she is old enough, she can have a good job, perhaps find a husband after." She shrugged.
Arabella remained silent. She was always quiet, easily submissive to my mother's whim. Her eyes were wide though as she stared between the two of us, but I knew she would not respond.
"Now, go to bed, Ailia. Enjoy the last night of being the whore you are." My mother laughed before walking her way to her bedroom.
After she went to bed, I stayed standing, only moving when my legs tired. I leaned over the kitchen sink, staring down at Arabella's dirty dishes from dinner.
I was to marry a stranger, and I had no choice.
I was sixteen, and my life would never be the same. Darius came from a wealthy family, his father one of the main three families that ran the village...
I was doomed.
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