~ Zola ~
I awoke to unfamiliar sounds. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I found myself in the small, dimly lit room I now called home. A single window allowed small rays of light to pierce through the darkness, the first light of dawn casting shadows that danced across the room its mud walls adorned with cracks that seemed to mirror the ones in my heart.
I had arrived in my aunt's village under the weight of heavy expectations and the shadows of an uncertain future. My parents, claimed by an unforgiving illness, had left me with nothing but memories that I clung to like fragile vines in a storm.
The air in the room was heavy, filled not with the promise of a new day but with the stifling weight, and the coarse blanket that covered me offered little warmth as I stirred from my makeshift bed, a mat on the cold floor. My eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling, and I couldn't shake the feeling that they mirrored the fault lines in my own existence. With a sigh, I rose, aching from both the physical toll of my journey and the emotional burden I carried.
As I stumbled into the main room of my aunt's dwelling, the pungent scent of burning wood greeted me. My aunt, a stern woman with eyes as cold as stone, stood over a flickering fire, tending to a pot that emitted a weak promise of sustenance. Her gaze met mine, and I felt the weight of her disapproval before she even uttered a word.
"Finally awake, are we?" She said her voice blunt and irritated. "Lazy child, you have no place here if you can't pull your weight. These vines," she gestured toward the fields beyond the window, "are our livelihood. You'll work or starve. Simple as that."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my gaze dropping to the rough-hewn floor. This was to be my new reality—a life dictated by the whims of my aunt, a woman whose bitterness rivalled the taste of unripe grapes.
"I understand, Auntie," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do my best."
Her laughter, a harsh sound devoid of warmth, echoed in the room. "We'll see about that, won't we? Now, get yourself to the vineyards. There's much work to be done, and I won't tolerate idleness."
And so, on that first day in my aunt's village, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, I descended into the vineyards that seemed to stretch towards an unknown horizon, seemingly endless yet elusive.
In the shadow of prosperity stood the vineyards, a domain of opulence where the vines bore fruits that spoke of affluence and tradition. My days here would be spent navigating the intricate labyrinth of vines and though I moved into them with purpose, my heart weighed heavy.