Weekly Writing Challenge 2 – The Evil Stepmother

Her legs were a little bit wobbly as she trekked out into the forest with her husband.  She had just given birth to beautiful baby girl.  She was blond with fair skin.  Izabel wondered if the blond hair would keep or would darken to a shade like her auburn.  She was amazed at the miracle her body produced and mourned all the more for the little ones that tried to come before.  Izabel was secretly relieved that her daughter didn’t have Adam’s dark skin.  She secretly knew it wasn’t possible for Sarah to have Adam’s ebony skin as Adam wasn’t the true father of Sarah.  Izabel had been with another.  She was convinced that Adam didn’t know.  Sarah looked enough like her as to not arouse suspicion.

They walked still further.  Izabel’s side was starting to ache.  She wanted to get back to the homestead and check on her daughter.  Every moment without her was more and more painful.  After about two hours of walking, Izabel’s eyes lit on a bloody rock on the ground.  Hey eyes jetted up to her husband who was a couple paces ahead of her.  Almost sensing her trepidation, he hollered back, “Not much further now.”  Izabel began to grow worried.  She hadn’t seen her lover since giving birth.  And now this bloody rock.  She quickly added up the situation in her mind and started running.  Even in her weakened state, she overtook Adam as adrenaline poured through her.

It was just over a hill that she saw him.  Her blond, fair-skinned lover.  His body was splayed in many directions.  His face was unrecognizable.  Brain matter was seeping from a deep wound.  Maggots had already started to fester.  Blood was running from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.  Izabel let out a long wail that turned into a scream.  She kissed what was left of his face.

Adam was quite noticeably confused.  He expected Izabel to thank him.  The man obviously took advantage of her.  It had never entered Adam’s mind that his second wife was an adulteress.  He failed to realize that Izabel was not Cava, his first wife.  He had taken for granted that all women were like his Cava.  Cava was a selfless gentle woman.  Izabel was a servant girl, hardened by the harsh realities of the world around her.  Izabel was a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, even if it meant tearing apart a family.

Izabel had wanted a child of her own to take the focus off of Kallah, Adam’s bright morning star.  Everything centered around Kallah in the household.  Izabel thought that if she had a child of her own, Adam would truly see her as a wife, a leader in the household, and not just a step-mother/servant for Kallah.  But failure after failure to have a child with Adam, drove her to extremes.  She sought the comfort of a servant man.  She finally brought a child to term.  Adam must have suspected right away but because he was so pure (naive in Izabel’s mind), he thought something more nefarious happened between the man and Izabel.  Now all was made clear.

Adam’s rage then went to his wife.  Izabel was still grieving at the side of her lover’s body when she felt hands around her throat.  Her eyes went wide.  He was behind her so all she could do was kick.  But his large frame had her covered.  It wasn’t long before she slipped into a comatose state.

“Your bastard daughter will never live in my house.” Adam whispered.  It was the last thing Izabel heard before slipping under.

Adam marched back the way he came.  His rage quelled, he was now deeply saddened.  He thought only of Kallah.  Kallah would miss her step-mother.  Kallah would want to know what happened.  Adam quickly came up with a story of Izabel drowning.  Little did Adam know that Izabel was merely unconscious.
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Here it is.  A fresh post for the weekly challenge: Characters That Haunt You.  And yes, Izabel is a racist *&#(@.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Characters That Haunt You

From here:

To be honest, this has been on my computer for years.  I just needed an excuse to share it.

It was the first time she had ever danced. She had thought about it often, imagined it. She twirled around in the fields in a rhythmic sway when her stepmother wasn’t looking. She had never seen a picture or really had it described to her. Her body did, however, have a natural rhythm when it came to hearing a tune. She always swayed alone in her dreams but music was a rare thing in her experience. However, in these mental machinations, she never imagined that dancing included touching.

The only things she ever touched were dirt, pigs, chickens, and trees. Touching things was not a pleasant experience for her. Very rarely, did she experience the touch of a person.  Mostly to shove her out of the way.  She did not even experience a human’s touch when she was disciplined. When she disobeyed, she got a switch put to her backside that she cut for herself so her stepmother wouldn’t have to dirty her hands or risk injury.

Tonight, right now, she felt the warm hand at her back. He rested there. He was not pushing her. She felt the other hand clasped in hers, covering and caressing her hand. She was grateful the gloves covered her calloused hands.  Her other hand wearily reached for his shoulder as she had seen the other couples do.

His eyes alone made her want to run and take cover. She could not stand to have his eyes on her. No one had ever gazed upon her. Gazed was the only word she could think of at the moment. His eyes were at once sapphire and gold. It felt like beams of high noon sunlight mixed with a cool breeze. She wondered if she had been set ablaze. She had only ever endured the cold, distant glares of her stepmother. However, his eyes actually wanted to rest where they were and see what they were seeing.

In that moment, she felt so afraid. She felt in her heart how unworthy she was. She was scared for the moment when the prince would find out that he had been fooled. That somebody dared bring a servant girl to a royal event in the hopes that he would mistakenly choose her. She felt both the fire of his eyes and the fire of her guilty heart all at once. It was a battle for her very soul in those few moments. Would her heart yield to the prince’s wondrous gaze? Or, would her heart yield to the years of guilt that her step-mother put upon her?