"I would burn the world to the ground for you and it still wouldn't be enough."
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 things you cannot have is what Kalliope knew incredibly well. Spending years trapped within her naturally timid...
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 Chapter Six | The Golden Boy
EIGHTEEN SIXTY FOUR
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THE AFTERNOON HAD JUST BEGAN, CAUSING THE SUN to shine overhead in a blistering heat. Kalliope didn't mind much of it though. She had her daily tasks to do around the house.
Times were changing. A war between the states harbored the cruelest bloodshed and worry among the civilians. Kalliope had seen war in her many years of life and never once was she too fond of it. War was horrid. The darkest parts of humanity clashing with one another in the most grotesk ways.
Truth be told, the thought of such violence sent Kalliope into a nervous break.
It also had to do with not everyone agreeing with her mindset on the subject of war. She believed people of any race, should be allowed complete freedom. They should be able to chose what they wanted out of life. To live or to die, it should be their decision alone, just like it was Kalliope's.
But alas, mostly the northern states agreed with her philosophy.
Men left and right were being drafted into a senseless means to an end. Hundreds of thousands of people were being slaughtered simply to bolster their egos and fatten their wallets.
Damon was being sent into the raging beast of war. She could feel the time was coming.
He wasn't like his father; however, he didn't approve of war and violence. Damon was a loving man, not a fighter. This was another quality that attracted Kalliope to her husband. They held the same morals because in some small way, they knew what it meant to be oppressed. They saw the error in slavery. Yet, he would have no choice but to go or be confiscated to answer to his government.
That alone, seemed like another type of their own misconstrued servitude.
This was why she was spending some alone time in the garden. She told Laura to take a paid leave for the weekend, choosing to make her own meals to keep her mind off impending disater.
Her hands were adorned in tan gloves specifically crafted for tending to her garden. She tugged on the weeds around her melons, wiping at the sweat collecting on her forehead. It was nice to get some perspective when she was by herself, humming softly under her breath.
Biting her lower lip in concentration, she twisted the squash till it snapped from the root and plucked it into her basket. It was about the size of a newborn baby, resting halfway out of the already full wicker basket.
