Hemorra paced the length of the small room, concerned thoughts over her father consuming her. She would have gone to her hideout house, but it was too close to the castle. It would only have made her more anxious to be there with her father and his fate so close without being able to do a thing about it, or at least being too much of a coward to do anything about it.
"You know," Raela spoke up from the corner, "he's not going to come back any faster if you do that."
"I know," Hemorra said shortly, still pacing. "I can't help but worry, though. He's my father."
"He's my father, too, but you don't see me pacing and muttering like a madwoman," she replied coolly.
Hemorra halted her steps, facing her sister. "How can you be so calm about this?"
"I trust his skill," Raela responded with a shrug. "You should, too."
"Of course I trust his skill," Hemorra said weakly. "But I also don't underestimate that of the...monsters."
Raela said nothing.
Hemorra studied her sister questioningly. "Why are you here?"
"To make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Hemorra believed her, but it still seemed like an excuse. "You're worried about him too, aren't you?"
Raela said nothing again, neither confirming nor denying the claim.
Hemorra sighed, then turned towards the door. "I need to get out. You can follow me if you like," she said, leaving without a glance behind.
She hopped onto the street, immersing herself in the crowd. She walked aimlessly down the many winding roads, her eyes taking in everything and nothing, forcefully trying to avoid thoughts of her father, but only thinking more of him in the process. Every little thing reminded her of him, no matter how far-fetched the connection would seem.
She started to feel guilty for having avoided him more and more as time had passed. He was her father; she should have involved herself with him more. Maybe then, he wouldn't have felt the need to go to that stupid castle, or at least, she might have been able to dissuade him. Maybe if she was stronger, braver, she might have gone to the castle herself. If she was just more like her sister...but even her sister hadn't gone.
Suddenly, a somewhat familiar voice broke her out of her tortured reverie. She stopped, turning about in the middle of the street as passersby shoved and shouted at her for being stationary, their complaints going unnoticed as she strained to find the voice's owner.
There he was, golden blond hair shining in the sun like a beacon, swarms of young ladies fawning and cooing sympathetically over him.
"Yes, those creatures were a force to be reckoned with. And what's more, they had the souls of the damned on their side that night. Sadly, none of my men made it," he said with mock sadness. "But I avenged them as best as I could. I fought off and slayed many a beast, but there were far too many to take on myself. I would surely have worked myself to death, had I stayed to fight them all."
Hemorra froze, dread and horror washing over her. Dead? Was her father truly gone? Without thinking, she fought her way through each one of those perfumed, silk-laden women until she was right in front of the nobleman, grabbing him by the collar of his fancy shirt to see her tear-streaked face.
Lord Celic instantly recognized the red-haired beauty, unsure of how to handle her sudden madness. He wondered how he had not recognized her insanity earlier. The signs had all been there. She had shown no interest in his person, denied his gold, and insulted his status. Now she was manhandling him in public, clearly in hysterics, though it did not detract from her fair features, surprisingly. He found her as beautiful as ever, but her behavior was simply unacceptable.
"What of my father," she cried repeatedly, shaking him.
"Unhand me, woman," he said firmly. "I know not of what you speak."
"He followed you," she responded with anger. "He went to that blasted castle, on your request, all for that stupid treasure, and now he's gone!"
Celic froze. So this beauty claimed her father was amongst the men he hired? Truthfully, he didn't know what had become of them, nor had he really cared until that moment. Still, he refused to believe such low scum as those men could produce an angel such as her. Perhaps she was only spinning yarns as he was, seeking his attentions once more and attempting to gain his sympathy now that she recognized her mistake of previously rejecting him. It was a strange way to go about it, he thought, but still very flattering.
"Come now, dear," he soothed comdescendingly, playing along as he patted her hand around his collar with his own. "Surely then, there must be some way I can...comfort you."
A sudden stinging sensation burned across his cheek, sending a loud clap through the air. He touched a hand to his face hesitantly as the whispers around them increased to louder murmurs. His shock morphed to anger at the tearful young woman who had just struck him.
"I will let this go once, since you are clearly not of sound mind," Lord Celic said with as much calmness as he could muster. "But you should know I will not tolerate such behavior any further."
"How dare you," she whispered, choking on a sob before she reinforced her anger. "How dare you! You think that just because you are a lord you can toss aside my father's life like it's nothing? Let me tell you this now; I value him far more than I have ever or will ever value you and your kind. You have been nothing but a scourge to me, to my father, to this city, and that is all you will ever be!"
Lord Celic stood by in shock, unresponsive as the enraged young woman was suddenly dragged away by a dark, hooded figure.
"Let me go," Hemorra cried, pounding in her sister's back. "Let me go!"
Her cries quickly turned to whispers, her pounding to pathic pats until she was nothing but a sobbing mess. It was only then that Raela let her go as requested.
"H-he can't be dead," she denied through her tears, looking her sister in her stony eyes. "Th-they always come back. Always. He can't be dead."
"Morra, listen to me," Raela said, gripping her by her shoulders, her face showing nothing but solemnity. "It's better that you just accept it now. He's gone. He's not coming back. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Hemorra sobbed again at those words, realising the futility of her denial. "I should have... I just... I don't know what to do!"
Raela hugged her sister hesitantly for the first time since they were but small children. "You just do what you've always done without him."
Hemorra's tears soaked her sister's shoulder as she hugged her back tightly. "It just doesn't seem right."
"He didn't have as much influence on your life as you might think, Morra," her sister said calmly. "It's not like he was the most amazing father, either."
Hemorra sniffled, frowning as she pulled back. "Maybe not, but he was our father."
"That doesn't mean a whole lot, when you get down to it," Raela said. "He was just a man. A very flawed man."
"How can you be so, so callous," Hemorra asked, bewildered, stepping back.
"That's how I was made to be," Raela responded coldly, then turned about briskly. "Come on. Let's go home."
Hesitantly, her sister followed behind dolefully, all the while thinking about her father.
She tried to come to terms, to accept his death as Raela suggested, hoping that if she did, she would achieve the same casual manner and attain some semblance of peace. But she simply couldn't bring herself to do it. In fact, the more she thought about it, the less it made sense.
She knew she had been right when she said that invaders always returned from the castle. She remembered thinking it strange that supposed monsters would let them go like that. Nonetheless, anyone who went in always came back out, regardless. The monsters never killed. Cursed and terrified, maybe, but never killed. The nobleman's tale made less and less sense, and by the time she and her sister got back home, she had convinced herself it was a lie and tgat her father was in fact alive.
"Rae," she spoke up when she was completely adamant. "I think that lord was lying."
Raela paused. "What do you mean?"
"I think our father is still alive," she said with conviction, only for her sister to break her stony facade with a questioning look.
"Think about it," Hemorra said, rushed. "Every single time, without fault, every invader has returned. So why would this time be any different?"
Raela folded her arms across her chest, the stony look returning. "Why would Celic lie?"
Hemorra's paused briefly, inferring that 'Celic' was the nobleman, trying not to focus on how her sister not only knew his name, but also neglected to use his title, instead trying to figure a reason behind his lie.
"I don't really know," she admitted, "but I'm sure there is a reason, just as I'm sure that our father isn't dead."
"Then where is he," Raela asked, spreading her arms wide to gesture at the room. "Celic returned, so why hasn't he?"
"Well--"
"Stop, Morra," Raela interrupted her, her dark eyes glittering angrily. "Don't do this to yourself. Our father is gone. Forever. He's not coming back. Accept it."
Hemorra faltered. "But--"
"I don't want to hear it," Raela growled, turning her back on her.
Hemorra stared after her. She felt so unsure now, but touching the stone near her heart that ever warmed her, she knew she could rely on her hope.
No. She needed more than simple hope now--she needed to take action. Grasping the remains of her conviction, she decided that if nothing was heard of her father in coming days, she would finally overcome her fear and go to the castle herself. She was tired of being weak, relying on the strength of her sister and their father. She was tired of hiding from her demons like a coward and calling it "hope".
Thinking back, she recalled she had stood up to a nobleman, of all people. And in broad daylight, amongst an entire crowd. No longer clouded by her grief, she realised that it had actually felt good--that She had an inner strength She had never truly accounted for.
She resolved to put real hope to good use, to not simply stand by and wait for things to come for better or worse, but to face them head on. To use her inner strength and get answers herself, finally accepting that they may not be the answers she wanted, but they would be answers nonetheless.