#Chapter 4: A Jail Cell full of Flowers

After four years, the cottage door was finally opened.

I stepped over the threshold cautiously, listening to the distant argument between the woman and the child. The voices, however, swiftly faded to the background as I looked around, awe overcoming me.

This was not the abandoned cottage I had once sent my new wife into; it was beautiful.

Blooming, blushing flowers decorated the space, in vases and pots and vines neatly hanging from the ceiling. There was even a wooden garden swing, its handles enveloped in climbing rose vines. I stepped over a flowerbed of paeonia, confusion sweeping through me. There was puzzlement evident on the servants’ faces; they clearly did not recognize the residence either. Flower vines even framed the windows and traveled up the walls, resulting in hanging canopies of pastel petals from the ceiling.

The beauty of the cottage was not the only surprise. The woman that stood in front of the boy was more beautiful than all of the flowerbeds and roses combined. Her blonde hair looked like melted sunshine, flowing in golden waves down her back. She was petite, small but standing with a certain dignity. Her small hand ran through the boy’s hair comfortingly, and a lot of their features were similar. Her nose was small and perked, her cheekbones pink, just like his.

Stunned, I paused mid-step over a family of daisies. Who was this gorgeous person staying in my cottage?

I looked at her, incredulous. “Who are you?”

The woman diverted her gaze from the boy, a sneer crossing her face. Even snarling, she was beautiful. Her eyes glowed like poison ivy. “Who are you to think you can walk into a stranger’s home?”

I ignored her question, bewildered. “This is my cottage, woman. It has been abandoned for years.”

She looked at me with strange familiarity in her face, like she recognized me in the worst way–with hatred. She asked who I was, but something in her demeanor showed that she already knew.

I asked again, slowly. “Who are you?”

A flash of hatred passed through her bright green eyes, and she looked up at me with flaring nostrils. “You don’t remember the girl you locked up in this cottage?”

Confused, I frowned. “I do. Where is she?”

She spit out a non-humorous, acidic laugh. “She never left.”

 

An electric shock went through my bones as I realized I was staring at my wife.

 

***

Cathy

I tried to veil the satisfaction I felt as the noble prince stood in front of me with the dumbest look plastered on his face.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, eyes skimming over every detail of me, clearly looking for the scars that once warped my face. The disgust his countenance once held for me was replaced by admiration.

The scars were long gone. After I had been reborn, my bloodline gifts awakened for the first time. With ease, I mastered the gifts, and learning witchcraft was as easy as learning to walk again. I did not have to be taught; it occurred to me like breathing. In my first step of revenge, I used the plants growing on the floorboards of the cottage to practice my new medicinal abilities along with the witchcraft. One night, I smeared the magically concocted salve over my face; it was a recipe to cure wounds.

I erased my scars because beauty was the best revenge.

The next thing was to change my baby’s scent, so that his father would never recognize him. I would not let him take that away from me, too. I made sure to coat him with my own scent and veil any remaining traces with the strong, sweet cloud of flowers and witchcraft plants that masked scents. Since we lived amongst them, he always smelled of the plants, replacing the musk of his natural one. Plus, it was not like anyone came looking for him.

My baby and I were granted loneliness, for it was a good thing no one ever came back to check on me. For all they knew, I was long dead–the servant saw no point in returning to a rotting corpse.

Three years ago, I started venturing out of the cottage on my own through the hole caused by decay. My medicines sold for gracious amounts, and soon I was able to purchase us food instead of collecting small rations of berries and nuts within the woods. I always disguised myself, of course. Sure, I was near unrecognizable, but I did not want to risk getting identified by any of Aldrich’s guards. Who knew what they would do if they discovered I was still alive, no longer imprisoned in that cottage?

But I was no longer scared. After I met Clement, I mastered my abilities enough to not fear anyone else.

After one afternoon of threading my way through the woods, I discovered a deadly insect bite on my collarbone. It itched and burned and I recognized the bite in one of my pharmacy pamphlets; the insect bit me with a poison called Klizal. It killed its host within a mere hour as their intestines bloated then ultimately imploded inside them. My collar bone was swiftly turning purple, melting beneath my skin to my insides.

I already felt my body failing, and I collapsed to the ground. Thankfully, I never strayed from the dirt path, and a man was passing through.

He was young, but it seemed like an immortal form of youth. His essence oozed with wisdom and ancient knowingness. The young man was beautiful, his hair a jet, glowing black, and his eyes looked like the night sky. They were black like his hair, but glimmered as if there were stars in his irises.

I did not expect him to help me, but he did. I never discovered the antidote to Klizal, for I was still a newish witch, but he seemed to know. Nonchalantly, as if he was just observing food at the market, he took one glance at my collarbone then got to work. He mixed a vial of his blood with a dark brown liquid, and placed a droplet of it on my tongue.

Clement was a decorated healer who traveled the world, someone who knew more than a kingdom combined. He was the only other healer I had met besides myself and my sister, and I vehemently begged him to teach me after he saved my life. Due to the rarity of our species, he did.

After Theodore grows up, maybe I would join him in his travels to heal people. But there was something that needed to be done first. I did not fulfill one of the two missions of my new life.

Revenge on Aldrich and Emily.

“How did you become so…different?” Aldrich demanded, frowning. “And who is the child’s father?”

He would never know. “It’s none of your business,” I snarled, laying a protective hand across Theo’s back. I started to turn him toward the kitchen, dismissing our unwelcome guests.

But before I could sweep him away, he asked in his tiny, demanding voice, “Mommy, do you know him? Is he my daddy?”

I silently cursed to myself.