Vengeance Through Passion

The moment Aricia stepped onto the creaking wooden stairs leading up to her room, the familiar sight of Freya greeted her—though it wasn’t the greeting Aricia expected. Freya appeared from the shadowed landing, her sudden presence startling Aricia so badly that she let out a sharp gasp.

"Aghh!... You... why? Argh!" Aricia shrieked, her body jerking back, nearly tripping over the uneven floorboards. Her hands instinctively flew to her chest, which was now throbbing from the scare.

Freya, ever poised and composed, barely raised an eyebrow as she descended the staircase with graceful steps. Her gown whispered against the stone, flowing like water. “Are you crazy?” Freya's voice, cool and level, sliced through the silence. “You intend on waking Martha with all that racket. **Frazankiya protombela yama**.”

Freya's tone was soft yet firm, her words slipping into an unfamiliar, melodic tongue. The foreign syllables fell from her lips effortlessly, and for a moment, Aricia blinked in confusion.

"Me? What? Crazy?" Aricia shot back, her eyes widening at the audacity. "And we both know I have no clue as to what you just said."

A smirk danced across Freya's lips, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Senseless fool,” she responded, her tone laced with mild amusement as she stepped off the last stair and onto the wooden floor.

Aricia bristled. "What?" she asked, still somewhat dazed by the entire encounter.

“That’s what it means,” Freya said flatly, before adding with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “If you'd like, I could teach you the language of mountaineers. It enhances flexibility."

"Huh?" Aricia’s brow furrowed, completely caught off-guard by Freya’s nonchalant offer.

"Yes, that was where we first met, remember?" Freya said, her voice lighter now, as if recalling a distant memory.

"And where you tried to sell me off," Aricia shot back, her voice sharp, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Freya snickered, the sound low and melodic, as though the memory brought her some fond amusement. "Ah, good times," she said, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the hallway.

"Are you serious right this moment?" Aricia’s voice rose in disbelief, her patience wearing thin.

Freya merely stepped beside her, her expression calm as she moved past Aricia and into the sitting room, her movements unhurried and deliberate. Once inside, she surveyed the small room with a pondering look before finally settling onto the couch with the grace of someone entirely unbothered.

"Most of the time..." Freya mused, her fingers delicately tracing the edge of the couch's fabric, her eyes distant, as if her mind was miles away.

Aricia, still reeling from the whirlwind of the encounter, stood rooted to the spot, her hands still hovering over her chest, her heart now racing for entirely different reasons. She was both infuriated and intrigued by Freya’s cryptic demeanor.

Freya, noticing her silence, looked up and added with a sudden edge, “I’m normally the one asking the questions.” She leaned back, her tone shifting, becoming sharper. “Anyway, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Aricia blinked. "Don't you think you're showing up in way too many chapters of my life?" she countered, a frown tugging at her lips as she straightened her posture and dusted off her gown.

Freya sighed, her expression softening ever so slightly as she rested her elbow on the armrest, fingers brushing her chin. "I know you went to Ungais'," she began, her voice calm but filled with knowing.

Aricia's heart skipped a beat. "Wh... what... me? Of course... not..." Aricia stammered, quickly losing any sense of composure. She could feel Freya’s gaze piercing through her flimsy facade. “Okay, yes, you might be correct,” she conceded, shifting uncomfortably. “But I was just curious to know how they would burn the... uh... witch.”

Freya’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Uhh... huh, and you look like you traveled down a sewer."

Aricia sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging as she collapsed onto the chair across from Freya, rubbing her temples. She didn’t have the energy to deny the truth any longer.

"I'm worried about you, Ricia," Freya said, her tone softening, though her eyes remained steady. "You normally create problems, but this time it’s worse. You keep entangling yourself with powerful people—dangerous people. Those people are cruel and wicked. As much as I don’t support the Yazaki, the four clans were the ones who wiped out the entire Spirit Clan."

Freya’s voice grew quieter, almost hushed, as if the weight of history pressed down on her. “No one knows the details, but it happened on the marriage engagement of the heir to the Makavi of the Spirit Clan. They are all dangerous, Ricia, and you keep doing things to get on their nerves.”

Freya shifted closer, her eyes searching Aricia’s face for any sign that her words were sinking in. “A few days ago, I overheard Arthur of Ysadora talking to one of the villagers—about you, Ricia. About the owner of this cottage. When they arrived. Some... other details.”

Aricia’s heart raced as Freya’s words washed over her, her mind struggling to comprehend the full gravity of the situation. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Freya nodded gravely. “Yes, friend. Walls have ears, you know. They whisper all sorts of conversations in the dark. Soon enough, those people will find some reason to get rid of you."

Aricia pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to block out the rising panic. Freya’s words rang with cold truth, and Aricia couldn’t deny it. She had been reckless—too reckless. She wasn’t just playing with fire anymore; she was standing in the midst of a storm she couldn’t control.

Freya continued, her tone still calm but filled with concern. “Once questions start circulating, the villagers will begin suspecting you for no reason. All it takes is a whisper... and soon, the flames will follow."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Freya’s words settling heavily between them. The distant sound of wind whistled outside, rattling the windowpanes and adding to the tense atmosphere inside.

Freya, never one to linger in the discomfort of silence, suddenly jumped off the couch, brushing off her gown with a determined flourish. “Do you have any food at home? Even a loaf will do. I’m starving. Staking out is not an easy task, friend.”

Aricia blinked, momentarily pulled from her spiraling thoughts by Freya’s sudden shift in mood. She watched as Freya stretched, making her way toward the kitchen. “Imagine one of the mages caught you returning home at this hour, while the whole of Athame is under a state of emergency. Whoof!” Freya sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her forehead as if to mimic a fainting damsel. “The things we do for love.”

Aricia’s lips twitched into a faint smile. Freya always had a way of lightening even the darkest of moments. “Thank you, Madame—"

“No need,” Freya interrupted, raising a finger to cut her off. “And if you call me that again, I’ll—" She paused mid-sentence, lifting her elbow playfully as if ready to jab Aricia.

Freya’s lightheartedness was infectious, and despite the dire warnings she had just given, Aricia felt a sense of comfort knowing that her friend was always there—always looking out for her.

Freya disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning moments later with a loaf of bread. She was already halfway out the door when she stopped, as if a sudden thought struck her.

“Was your hair always scarlet and black?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as she glanced at Aricia’s head.

Aricia blinked in surprise, her hand instinctively reaching for her hair. “Umm, no... I also don’t know why it’s like this now,” she admitted, her voice soft. “It was always black, but... then a hint of scarlet began to surface some years back."

Freya tilted her head, her lips curling into a smirk. “Night freak,” she muttered under her breath, her tone teasing before she turned to leave. But just as she reached the door, she paused, her hand resting on the handle, and threw one last remark over her shoulder, “Oh, and I left Baby in your room.”

Aricia blinked, the words not quite registering at first. "What?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Freya didn't even bother turning around as she continued, her tone light and casual, as though she hadn’t just dropped an entirely new problem into Aricia’s lap. "Yes, as you know, my aunt is allergic to cats. And I’ve done a fantastic job taking care of it till now, truly. But alas, I must resign, dear friend, for this job is far too much for a young maiden such as myself to handle. I’m off." She gave a dramatic wave, as though bidding farewell to some grand stage, and without another word, she slipped out the door.

Aricia stood there, dumbfounded, her mouth half-open in protest. "Wait... Freya!" she called after her, but it was no use. Freya had already disappeared into the night, leaving Aricia to deal with the aftermath.

She sighed heavily, pressing a hand to her forehead as if to stave off the inevitable headache. Freya had a knack for leaving chaos in her wake, and it seemed tonight was no exception. As Aricia stood there, trying to process everything, a soft sound reached her ears.

"Meow... meow..."

Her eyes shifted to the stairs, and sure enough, there it was—Baby. The small cat, its fur a sleek blend of black and gray, was currently crawling down the steps with slow, deliberate movements, as if it had just awoken from a deep sleep. Its round, amber eyes blinked up at Aricia with a sleepy, innocent gaze, completely oblivious to the whirlwind that had just transpired.

"Hello there," Aricia muttered softly, walking over to the cat. She knelt down, reaching out to gently pet it. Baby’s fur was soft, though slightly matted, and it nuzzled into her hand, purring quietly. "You poor thing," she murmured, running her fingers through its fur. "It must have been difficult living with our dear Madame Freya, hmm? You've already lost so much weight as it is…"

The cat meowed softly in response, as if to agree with her.

Aricia sighed again, scooping Baby into her arms. The warmth of the cat’s body was a small comfort amidst the chaos of the evening. "Don’t worry," she whispered, cradling Baby close. "I’ll find a safe place for you. You won’t have to deal with her antics any longer. But for now..." She paused, her nose twitching as a sharp, unpleasant odor reached her nostrils. Her eyes widened in realization, and she groaned inwardly.

"I really need a bath," she muttered under her breath. "I probably smell like... like I’ve just crawled through a dragon’s lair full of rotting corpses and musty tomes." She grimaced at her own words, but the comparison wasn’t too far off. Between her recent escapades in the tombs and the events of the day, her clothes were damp with sweat, dirt clung to her skin, and there was a distinct odor of something... foul that she couldn’t quite place.

Aricia set Baby down gently on the floor, the cat immediately curling up on the worn rug near the fireplace. "Stay there, alright?" she told the cat softly, giving its head one last pat before turning toward the small bathroom attached to her room.

The house, now quiet, seemed almost too still after Freya's whirlwind presence. The silence pressed in on Aricia as she crossed the small sitting room, her boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. She reached the bathroom door and pushed it open with a soft creak.

The bathroom was simple, like the rest of the cottage, but it was functional. A small wooden tub sat in the corner, the remnants of a fire smoldering under the stove nearby, which had been used to heat the water. A small window let in the last fading light of dusk, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Aricia quickly undid the ties of her dress, letting the filthy garment fall to the floor in a heap. The fabric was heavy with grime, a mix of dirt, sweat, and the dampness of the tomb she had ventured into earlier. She shuddered at the memory of the place—its damp, oppressive atmosphere still clung to her skin, making her feel dirty from the inside out.

She stepped into the tub, wincing slightly as the lukewarm water lapped at her skin. It wasn’t the most luxurious bath, but it would have to do. The water was murky, a mixture of heated rainwater and melted snow that had been collected in barrels outside the cottage. Aricia sank into it with a long sigh, letting the water soothe her aching muscles. She scrubbed her arms, her legs, her face—trying to rid herself of not just the physical grime but the emotional weight of the day.

As she scrubbed, her mind drifted back to Freya’s words. Those people are cruel and wicked. You keep entangling yourself with powerful people... The warning echoed in her mind, mingling with the faint sound of the wind howling outside the window.

Aricia ran a hand through her wet hair, the strands clinging to her fingers. The scarlet and black colors were more vibrant when wet, the contrast stark against her pale skin. Freya had noticed the change in her hair, and it wasn’t the first time someone had commented on it. The scarlet had started appearing gradually, years ago, and though she had tried to hide it, the streaks had only grown more pronounced with time.

After what felt like an eternity, Aricia finally climbed out of the tub, drying herself with a rough towel. She slipped into a fresh gown, the soft linen a welcome change from the dirty, tattered one she had discarded. As she stepped out of the bathroom and back into the sitting room, she glanced over at Baby, who was now fast asleep, curled up in a small ball.

For a moment, the sight of the sleeping cat brought a small smile to her lips. "At least one of us can sleep peacefully tonight," she whispered to herself before settling into the chair by the fireplace. The fire had dwindled to embers, casting a faint glow across the room. Aricia sat there for a long while, staring into the dying flames, her mind still racing with thoughts of what was to come.