Bonds Untied

By Sasha Maria Popham

Yup, you’ve definitely hit something vital!” She says to me in wavering breaths. Her body is slumped against a wall, opposite to the one I rest against. “I almost got away unscathed too,” She chuckles weakly. 

A familiar sound- joyful even, if it was a year ago. But here we were, about to spend our final moments with one another.

The castle I chased her into is far from welcoming. And the hallway she had led me down was no exception. I should have known she had something up her sleeve. She always did.

 I recall the times she’d scream for mom every time I won an argument or a fight. But it wasn’t Mom she had up her sleeve this time. She poisoned me. I know she did. I knew she would. She is evil. Younger sisters always were. They pull your hair, steal your clothes, tattle tale on your secrets- and in the worst cases, poison you with their unnatural gifts. 

Her hair was frizzy and puffy like she hadn’t showered in days. The long black dress was gorgeous, covered her up nicely had it not been for the tears and wears of my dagger nicking certain places, trying to stop her from destroying our home, our city. So many lives had depended on me to succeed. One life for many only seemed fair. Perhaps two in this case.

 I couldn’t help the smirk that graces my lips, unruly strands of my now messy ponytail press and stuck to the gloss on my lips, no doubt messed up from the roughhousing. I was definitely going to get bruises the next day. 

“You’ve gotten fatter,” She states, her eyes half shut with a small smile gracing her bloodied lips. I scowl back at her with the energy I had left.

”It’s not fat,” I grimace, “It’s muscle, something your cheap voodoo tricks can’t take away from me,” I begin heaving, like something was wrapped around my neck, like a snake constricting airways. My eyes stay on my little sister, her coughing tells me she is worse off than I am.

“I hope it hurts,” I say with the hate and anger I carry with me deep in my heart for years. “I hope you bleed out knowing that you failed. You failed to make your sick and twisted fantasy of burning this world down a reality,” I hear my voice grow louder and louder.

“You are a cruel CRUEL witch!” I hear my voice echo through the walls, down the corridors of the empty castle. No one was coming for us. That is for certain.

There is silence between us. My eyes close for a brief moment- a quick power rest from the constant strikes against one another. I assume she was taking her time to think upon her actions, what she had done. 

That is until I hear her snort. My eyes open the moment she begins to cackle. It hurts to even muster up energy to frown at her, even if the sound of her full blown laugh cuts something deep in me. 

“Not the best change from calling me a bitch all these years, but a change nonetheless!” She gasps in between giggles. I look at her with exasperation. What did she expect? That I would laugh with her? She is a monster. 

“Stop that,” I grimace at her. “You don’t deserve to laugh in your final moments,” 

“Oh like you have a say in it,” She says quickly, cutting her laugh as quick as it came. She sneers at me with her chapped lips. Mine were no better, perhaps just as bloodied as hers at this point.

I scoff, my eyes squinting to see her better, the torches dimming slowly. Her head tilts to the side, she does not speak for long minutes. I gently tap the back of my head against the cold stone wall behind me. I want to scratch the itch on my shoulder, but I am starting to realize I have grown numb. Paralysed. I could laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. She casted a spell without me realizing. 

“Humor me for a moment,” She finally whispers out. I look at her eyes, void of the emotions she’s expressing, no soul behind it to peer into. She is a shell of something I cannot put a finger on. 

“What?” I pressed.

“What in god’s name made you think I was trying to burn this world down?” She scoffed. I could almost snarl at her. Is she mocking me? 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” I say with aggression, my blood boiling from the thought. ”I know your tricks witch-“

”Okay enough with the insults-”

“Don’t try to play dumb-”

”I am not!” She yells, almost like she was twelve all over again. 

“Are to!” I feel like I am thirteen again.

“I am being genuine,” She insists. 

“Like when you killed my mother?” I dare say. I see the hurt in her eyes, the way her brows furrow with unspoken emotions. It brings me a sick joy to see her in such a state. Her lower lip quivers and to my surprise, she leans forward in the slightest, taking in a breath to say,

“My mother… Did not die by my hands,” the venom in her voice sends shivers down my spine. My retort is silenced when I stare into her eyes. The pools of dark emotions swirling in them, like shadows grasping over one another to resurface into the light. To be seen for what they were. 

“Do not lie to me, you-” I can’t find it in myself to continue. I couldn’t stop the tears that formed. It has been years since I cried. After the death of my mother, I refused to let anyone see me cry, ever again. 

Maybe I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. 

“Oh you’re the one crying now?” She asks with a bitter laugh at the end that leaves me dumbfounded. It was not enough for her to take away my mother, but to shove it in my face. 

“What is wrong with you? How can you be so heartless?-“

”I have no sympathy for our mother’s true killer,” Her tone alone, the newly found hate in her eyes begins to make me wonder if I really was. “To think I had even considered reasoning with you!” 

My mind does not follow along with the rest of her ranting. Instead it is in a state of shambles, raking for every bit of memory I could find. I never saw my mother’s body, no proof to the story came from my father. He had tears in his eyes, his breathing uneven when he spoke of her death. That my little sister is the reason behind my pain and grieves. I cannot recall a single moment I was with my mother when she died. My eyes find my sister again, her lips moving quickly, blood trickling from the side of it, she is overexerting herself. 

“You humor me,” I demand half way through her rantings. She pauses, a look of annoyance on her face. She always despised being interrupted. At least that much I remember of my sister after the past year. My body is going numb. We are running out of time and here I am, trying my best to grasp the truth before it all disappears forever.

“What makes you say I am the killer, is this one of those psychology manipulation techniques, some witch spell?” I ask, my lungs feeling constricted. 

It feels like I am on the brink of drowning, but I cannot tell if it was from the spell, or the anxiety of my entire life being a lie, rushing through me. 

She looks at me with exasperation. The back of her hand comes up to wipe- or rather smear the blood across her lips. She glares at me with this sense of disgust, or is it hurt. I can no longer tell what is what anymore. I feel drained, my mind slowly deterring. 

“What is with these witch accusations? Is that what you told your little cult outside- They fell for that crap?” She spits at me. I frown at this. 

“You mean the Witch hunters?” 

“Is that what you called it? A little on the nose there-”

“... You’re a witch, those creatures-”

“You mean the locals of these woods? The spirits that appeared because you decided to burn their home?!” I am at a loss for words. My eyes hold hers, hoping and begging to see deceit in them. My eyes feel wet from the few tears I shed for the memory of my mother, and now for the frustration I feel at this unbearing confusion between us. I shake my head, this isn’t right. 

“I am not part of a cult,” I say softly, almost in a whisper that is barely audible. 

“Yes you are,” She insists with the same vigor and dedication I did, coming into this battle against her. “Father said so,” 

My blood runs cold. My breathing hitches at the revelation. I search her eyes with newly found dread. She looks at me again. I know she realizes the same thing when her eyes meet mine. 

“I am not in a cult,” I declare. 

“... And I am not a witch,” She states. There is a long silence filling the space between us. New emotions rest among us. 

Realisation, Guilt, Shame. 

Yet we don’t look away from each other. There is something in her eyes that makes me believe she is seeking comfort, like when a younger sibling has done something wrong and is looking towards their older ones for guidance on what to do. For the first time in my life, I have no guidance to give my sister. 

“I didn’t kill our mother.” I admit.

“Nor did I,” She confirms. I believe her this time. She believes me just as easily. We can't look at each other anymore. The bonds we so easily formed since birth can no longer be mended. We rest in a pool of our own mistakes.

There is no saving us.

Boots echo in the distance, drawing us to look at each other once again. The familiar pace that we have grown familiar with, different homes, same dread, same disciplining. It is written all over her face, and mine indefinitely. 

The torches seemed dimmer than before, darkness beckoning closer, bringing the end with it.

The familiar scent of ash and cigarettes fills the hallway. He is coming closer. My eyes don't leave my little sister’s as her own dart back and forth between me and our father. No older sibling should feel the way I do now. The only thing I wish to do now is to move. 

Move towards her, embrace her in my arms, tell her it was all going to be okay. Like I did all those years before when we still shared a room, a roof over our heads, when we still had two loving parents and the naiveness of children. Back to the simple times of chasing each other in the woods close to home, catching pixies in our palms, looking for a unicorn near the lakes. Or when we hid in the same bed when we were too afraid of the stories of Ogres and Goblins during the sit around at the campfires.

 I want to look at her, to speak, to yell at her to keep her eyes on me. I cannot. I am paralyzed completely now. 

“Ah, my daughters,” His voice deep and lack of sympathy, “This outcome was expected.” He sounded closer, his legs visible at the side of us.

 Still, I don’t tear my eyes away from my sister. I hear him hum in dismissal, no doubt disappointed in my lack of acknowledgement. I see his foot kick at her stretched out one. “You failed,” 

I wanted to scream, to beg him to tell us the truth, to tell me she was a joke, a long sick joke. Or at least to tell me whatever she told me was a lie, what she thought I was, was just the tricks or a convincing witch. Tell me he was never in contact with her, feeding her lies as horrendous as the ones he fed me. 

Alas, I can’t. 

It was too late.

“Any last words?” He asked, his blade pointed to her neck. My neck is strained, trying to scream. Her eyes are on him. They shouldn’t be on him. A small breath left me, drawing them to me. There was anger, regret and fear in them. They falter the moment she locks her eyes to mine. My heart breaks all over again when she smiles. 

“I forgive you-”

He makes her choke on her blood, much how I choke on my emotions. I hold her gaze, trying my best to show her I forgave her too, and how sorry I am. I can’t tell if she sees it, or if she is going with a peaceful mind. The light in her eyes is gone too quickly. 

“Weak… Soft. Too much like her mother,” He grimaced. “Especially since you’re not bleeding. Asides from that nick on your arm” 

That can’t be right. She cut me, she poisoned me, I’m sure of it… The numbness, the way my throat tightened… I can’t look at my arm. She wasn’t a witch. Maybe I didn’t see light burst from her hand. Perhaps it was the lighting of a dagger being pulled, nicking my arm with paralyzing venom. 

How foolish I was to believe it was anything but venom on her little pocket knife. She wasn’t a witch. She was a hurting daughter, just like me. He kicks her body down. I can’t see my little sister anymore. All I see in my vision is the brick wall she rested against seconds ago. She wasn’t aiming to kill me. She wanted to seek peace. Reason with the only family she had left aside from the man that pitted us against each other. I acted to hurt… Permanently. 

“You were always the stronger one.” He whispered.

 My numb body being picked up effortlessly from the devil that made me. “The wolf amongst the sheep. Not the son I hoped to receive… But better a headstrong daughter than two useless ones.” 

I had torn into a bond I should have kept tied. I should have chosen peace. I wanted to preserve the idea of my mother being avenged that I failed to protect the only other being I had left of her. There was no way of mending this bond… Now we both reach the world of unconsciousness. But only one of us will be waking up.

By Sasha Maria Popham