Even though she was 14 now and no longer an imaginative little child, Doli still loved "exploring" around Blackrock Castle. Truth be told, there wasn't much exploring to be done anymore. The place hadn't seen actual battles for centuries aside from a war against moss and mold. But here, gazing out at the water from the perch of the castle, she could envision its prouder past. A time, long ago. A better time.
She found a lingering soldier, standing guard and steadfast. A cricket. As she watched it skitter around the dirt, she wondered what in the world it was doing out. She wondered why she only heard crickets at night. And why this particular cricket found itself out in the open in broad daylight. Was it lost' Was it on an adventure of its own"
"DOLI."
Her mother's pitch, to be sure. She glanced over to see her form by the road, arms crossed. "Time to go back to y'er readings."
Her readings. That was another part about growing up that she hated. She didn't get to read fun bedtime stories or fantasy adventures anymore. Now, it had all been nonfiction about unseelie histories and tragedies. Stories about persecution and war. Torture. Death.
"But it's Sunday, mamai." Said with a whimper. Said with a hope that it may soften her up. Said with a fool's chance of working.
"Ooooh it's Sunday, is it' Didn't realize." Her mother's biting sarcasm to start was not a good sign. Her tone only got worse from there. "Do ya know what y'er sister is doing on this fine Sunday' DO YA?"
No answer from Doli. Nothing out loud. But she knew.
"She's out there, with that MAN. Gettin' beat. Gettin' RAPED. Gettin' TORN open on both sides of 'er!!" Her mother went on and on, in increasing graphic detail. She knew when she could stop: when she saw the tears welling up in Doli's eyes. "So get y'er LAZY ARSE to y'er READINGS."
"Yes mam." That's all she could offer in response. There were too many emotions swirling inside her head to articulate anyway, even if she wanted to try. Misery. Rage.
Feckin' cricket. Scurrying around in the sun and enjoying itself. Lazy bastard, must have broken from the pack. Abandoned its duties. Traitor.
Doll raised her foot and SQUASHED it, its guts exploding onto the soles of her boot. Its remnants would stick there on her shoes every step of the long walk home.
She found a lingering soldier, standing guard and steadfast. A cricket. As she watched it skitter around the dirt, she wondered what in the world it was doing out. She wondered why she only heard crickets at night. And why this particular cricket found itself out in the open in broad daylight. Was it lost' Was it on an adventure of its own"
"DOLI."
Her mother's pitch, to be sure. She glanced over to see her form by the road, arms crossed. "Time to go back to y'er readings."
Her readings. That was another part about growing up that she hated. She didn't get to read fun bedtime stories or fantasy adventures anymore. Now, it had all been nonfiction about unseelie histories and tragedies. Stories about persecution and war. Torture. Death.
"But it's Sunday, mamai." Said with a whimper. Said with a hope that it may soften her up. Said with a fool's chance of working.
"Ooooh it's Sunday, is it' Didn't realize." Her mother's biting sarcasm to start was not a good sign. Her tone only got worse from there. "Do ya know what y'er sister is doing on this fine Sunday' DO YA?"
No answer from Doli. Nothing out loud. But she knew.
"She's out there, with that MAN. Gettin' beat. Gettin' RAPED. Gettin' TORN open on both sides of 'er!!" Her mother went on and on, in increasing graphic detail. She knew when she could stop: when she saw the tears welling up in Doli's eyes. "So get y'er LAZY ARSE to y'er READINGS."
"Yes mam." That's all she could offer in response. There were too many emotions swirling inside her head to articulate anyway, even if she wanted to try. Misery. Rage.
Feckin' cricket. Scurrying around in the sun and enjoying itself. Lazy bastard, must have broken from the pack. Abandoned its duties. Traitor.
Doll raised her foot and SQUASHED it, its guts exploding onto the soles of her boot. Its remnants would stick there on her shoes every step of the long walk home.