In which after the numerous losses she was forced to experience, Ylva the Dread begins to lose herself, slowing descending into madness like her brother and father before her. Will she be able to save herself before she's far too gone to be saved?
V...
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It was the middle of the night and Ylva laid in bed fast asleep beside Gunnhild, who had her head rested on Ylva's chest.
As her eyes were closed, Ylva seemed to flinch, which Gunnhild could feel as she laid with her head on the woman's chest. She was clearly having a nightmare, which she had never seen occur with Ylva butter.
Ylva was eight years old at the time. She wore a smile upon her face as she walked through the woods between Kattegat and Ashton alone.
She carried a small basket, picking up berries as she went along. She always enjoyed doing such things to pass the time. It allowed her to get away from her father's constant cruelty for the day and she was able to lie and say she spent all that time in the woods training when she actually wasn't.
Suddenly hearing a man yelling out, Ylva turned and frowned in confusion. She dropped her basket on the ground and walked forward, the sound of two swords clashing together filling her ears. She heard horses as well, which concerned her even more.
Without a care in the world, she began to walk in the direction of the commotion, tightly grasping the handle of the dagger she wore on the belt attached to her dress.
Her movements became slower as her eyes laid upon the numerous bodies lying at her feet. There were at least a dozen of them, each of them dead with their clothes covered in blood. Many had axes and swords rested near them as well.
She found herself horrified by the sight, only to suddenly hear a man coughing. She turned her head to see that the sounds had come from a man who was pinned to a tree by the sword embedded in his chest. He was covered in blood and the moment he laid eyes on her, he reached his hand out toward her.
Her eyes widened at the sight, a part of her trembling since she didn't know what to do.
"Please," He pleaded as he coughed up blood, "Please, I beg of you. Mercy!"
Hearing footsteps, Ylva whipped herself around to see her father walking in her direction. She felt uneasy, watching as he disregarded her and walked toward the dying man, who screamed in fear.
Without a moment of hesitation, her father stabbed the man in the neck and killed him instantly. He ripped the blade out of the man and turned to Ylva, pointing his bloody sword in her direction.
"You dare grant mercy to our foe?" He snapped at her angrily and Ylva felt uneasy as the tip of the sword brushed against her throat, "A traitor who dared to attempt to raid our home?"
"No, Father, I—" Ylva began to say, only to be cut off when her father slapped her across the face.
She gasped in pain as her face whipped to the side. Her eyes widened and she turned to face him once more as she pressed her hand against her aching cheek.
