17 Attacked (2/2)

”Yeah, we need to hide our presence or the guards will patrol it more often.”

I almost facepalm myself, /Right, I knew that./

Out the corner of my eye, Daric and Monna look at Zain's injury; Ivo and I clean up. We finish, and Zain's wound is clean and wrapped. Everyone heads back to the bunker except Monna who stares blankly at the bloody cloth in her hand. Ivo tries getting her attention, but she didn't seem to hear him.

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Monna stares at the bloody cloth used to clean Zain's injury. Her triggered past washes over her with the weight of an ocean; she's lost to the memories of pain, screams, and blood. Her heart clenches as she tries to hold them back, but they refuse to let her forget about Aken. The first boy she loved with all her naive heart, the one who held the key to her destruction.

As a sheltered merchant's child who knew nothing of the outside world, she believed every lie he spoke. Her closest friend, Tilla, encouraged her blossoming love. Monna made the mistake of giving him a key to the back gate so they could meet at any time. One night she woke to fire and slaughter. Many tortured screams shattered the quiet night. Then she saw Aken. Surely the boy she has fallen in love with has come to save her from this misery. Her terrified heart soared.

But her heart crumbled when she saw Tilla and him embracing like two passionate lovers. They came apart and noticed her standing there. She expected them to look guilty. Instead, they laughed. They laughed at her like the ignorant, foolish child she was. Aken tossed the key to her feet. Saying he no longer needs it now that he got what he wanted.

She stood there gazing at it, while she figured out it was all an awful lie to reach this point. They left as her world burned. Aken pretended to love her and Tilla pretended to befriend her. All for what? Money? Her father's merchandise? As she grieved a passing man saw her. She was so closed in she didn't see him until he was already dragging her with him. He was too strong, and she tried to get away, but couldn't break loose. He held her down. The grit from the dirt dug into her skin. She screamed desperately for help, begging him to stop. But no one came, and he didn't stop. By the time he finished taking what little she had left, she was truly numb to everything.

She waited for the blow that would end her life, but the tip of a sword stuck through his chest. She felt grim satisfaction, knowing he too lost something he will never get back. The man slumped to the ground. Behind him holding a bloody sword, caked in dirt and grime but stood determined, was Ivo. He threw her a jacket and held out a hand to her. And since then, she has yet to let go.

”Monna,” Ivo says for about the fifth time trying to get her attention. She snaps out of her daze and gives him an adoring smile. ”We are done for the night. Are you coming?” She bobs her head and quietly follows along.

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Her ghost wanders, feeling nothing.

No, that's not true; she feels unsatisfied, hate and unwillingness. She hasn't done nearly enough. Has yet to make the woman who forced an early death on the ghost suffer. The ghost refuses to go quietly. She won't fade into obscurity! Despite her unwillingness, there's little else she can do but roam with her hate. After all, she's dead; her undying will maintaining her spirt even in death. She fears her spirit will scatter soon; until she hears his voice again, the only consistent thing that's been with her through the years.

He whispers to her. Offers to lend a hand to help satisfy the anger that burns what's left of her soul. She smiles for the first time in many years.