All Chapters of Curse Of Wine & Belladonna: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Artemisia leaned her body against the chair entirely, the truth hurting more than she could have imagined. She could tell that the stages of grief hit her too fast, so the young woman was already in anger. An outsized hatred of herself. Artemisia knew it was deadly, she saw her father die, the nannies die, the plants, the animals. It was clear as the day that it was her curse, but knowing it was so painful that it made the young woman want to vomit up all the sweets she had eaten. Suddenly something hit her too, a memory that involved stories. It was almost like a blur, but if Artemisia tried hard, she could understand that it had been a dream, a strange and a little disjointed dream. In it were three books, each of which bore a strange memory of the young woman. The first was a debt, of this she remembered better than the others, the second was pure pain, the same pain she had felt when Leonore opened that book of leather red as blood. The young woman raised her face looking t

As the minutes passed, slow as a damn turtle, the young woman regretted more and more that she hadn't asked the demon to take her along with him to find a place for her to spend a while. Artemisia had already told some isolated details of the small square, how many weeds were being born among the bricks on the ground, the amount of thrush that swam in the fountain behind her. When she went to pay attention to the time, she was hopeful that at least twenty minutes had passed, but the reality was really a slap in the face. Artemisia was prepared to go back to looking for something insignificant and in large numbers to tell, when she realized that there was an old diary and a yellowed letter in her bag. She remembered that she was reading one of the pages Delfine had written in the diary when the car mysteriously stopped in the middle of the road. She began to fiddle with her purse in search of that diary, it wasn't hard to feel her fingertips go through the leather cover, the young w

The lights had been out for at least an hour, the windows were so tightly closed that the moonlight was forbidden to enter. Artemisia had never experienced a silence like that, it was as if life around that house knew that those who were occupying that space were two beings who were far from being human. The silence seemed to be a response to fear, it was comfortable, the young woman never thought that one day she would be in a place like Geon's house. The idea of having peace, truly having peace, in that mansion was as illusionary and childish as the books that Artemisia read when she was still a child, so the young woman abandoned that ideal life little by little. What good was it to dream of living in a place where the sun was the first to arrive, where flowers lived all year round, and peace was the monarch? It was so useless to poison yourself with those stories. Since her father's death, Artemisia had decided to face the reality of being herself. It was funny how such a young

Artemisia had a vague memory of moments she spent with her mother. They were simple memories blurred with time, almost as sharp as a window in the middle of winter, but they were there, they existed in that small, repressed space reserved for childhood memories. There was no way the young woman could not keep that, they were moments so unique that if she forgot, perhaps she would feel the cruel cold that the forgetfulness would bring her. In any case, that moment etched in the young woman's mind was just a winter, one of the worst that Artemisia had the displeasure to take advantage of. It was the first winter that the father of the little child was not at home, it was still far from the first winter period without the father, it happened when she was still only five or six years old. It was a helpless child without the only figure she felt would protect her no matter what. It was Georgino who was helping the girl when the nightmares made her scream at the top of her lungs for the w

The moment Artemisia left that eye-filled place, the cold of the sudden winter hit her like an arrow. The whole green field that the young woman had seen through the window was now a white immensity. The story Tinea told her the day before sounded again, all over again, it was already starting to irritate Artemisia. She just wanted to live miserably well, she didn't want to have to go through it all and know that when she finally got rid of that life, the young woman's soul would still beg for death for the last life. She could be absolutely sure that everything would be repeated again, from the days in the snow to begging an immortal woman for the gift of being reborn. The young woman looked for somewhere to sit, some corner that wasn't fully covered in snow, which was a somewhat impossible request. The white robe doubled in size with each passing minute, Artemisia could feel the skirt start to get hard and icy, no longer able to have the same movements as a normal skirt. But she w