Belladonna - Dreams

Dust swirled within the church rafters, coming down like a sign from on high. Light played with the small flecks of dead skin and decaying bodies, twirling like small ballerinas during their final performance. They twisted and bowed and even as they settled, they knew that the show must go on.

“I have not seen you in some time.”

Belladonna barely turned. She was staring at the dais, looking at the burnt corpse beyond. Briefly, she wondered if it still stood. If her world was completely gone, or if there was some shell of it that still existed out there. Standing as an effigy to a town that believed too much.

“The distance helps,” she responded. “It allows for the hurt not to linger.”

“Hurt. Why would there be such hurt?”

“The desecration of an entire village? A world lost to nothing? The hopeless venture of faith that no one would listen to in the end. Mainly because of you, father.” She turned to stare at him. The man who had raised her. His hair was lighter than she remembered and far wispier than his age should allow. The deep wrinkles of tension were cut in each corner of his eye from the years of taking on others sins. But his gaze was the same. That deep brown warmth that she remembered so vividly. Her father had been so observant. Kind. Intelligent. Up until the second he was not. Belladonna often wondered if that had more to do with her growing up than a failing on his part.

“I did what was right, Madeline. When will you forgive me for that?”

She arched a brow towards him. “Everyone is dead. I don’t think there is forgiveness to be had there.”

“I still believe it was the correct response to what was coming. The people we saved during that time are numerous. If you wish to pity anyone, pity the souls who had no one guiding them to the afterlife. The ones who didn’t have time for redemption in the final days.”

Bella fought to roll her eyes. “Death is still death, father. And I doubt the young children who had no choice in the matter would think the same of your sentiment.”

She turned away, staring straight ahead. Their village had not been large by any means, but it had been lively. Kids running in the streets. Mothers and fathers creating the type of community needed to not only raise them all but to ensure that their neighbors survived harsh winters. Strife within their own family. General hardship. It had been a good community. One full of love and camaraderie. Then, when the end of days had come, her father had told them all to accept it. To not fight.

Even with an open door, they had all listened.

“Your mother misses you,” her father said. He reached out, placing a hand on hers. “Madeline, when are you going to come home?”

Madeline. The brown haired girl with the soft eyes and the linen dress. Belladonna looked down at herself. That was certainly her. It was such a different skin than she was used to wearing.

“By your standards, father, I do not think I ever can.” It was meant to be bitter but even now, she couldn’t help the touch of sorrow that was in her voice from it. When the day came that the Night Market no longer could support her undying body, given the choice, she still would not be able to go ‘home’. If this was even considered home anymore.

“You could. I raised you right.”

She sighed through her teeth, eyes closing. He raised her right in his eyes. But was it right? Was there even a right? She had seen and done far too much in her life to make that kind of judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “This isn’t what we should be talking about. I wish to spend time with you. Not argue about two sides of the same fence.”

“It’s not–” she stopped herself, though. Instead, she curled one foot under her and turned to look at him. “It is good to see you, father.”

A smile broke out across his face. “As it is you. Please. Tell me about what you are up to. You said you own your own business now? What a marvel! Your mother used to speak of owning her own little place. I just never thought the world would accept such a thing.”

“I don’t ask them to accept. I tell them that this is the way it is going to be, and they listen.”

He shook his head. “My bullheaded little girl. I will never understand where you got that from.” There was a sense of pride there. There hadn’t always been, but after years of these kinds of dreams, he had perhaps come around to his daughter being of a stronger mind than before. If only these dreams were real. “And your beau? You said you started a relationship with someone? Are they kind? Do they treat you well?”

At that, Bella felt herself blush. “They are very kind, father.”

“I wish to meet them. Perhaps you could bring them here one day?”

“I wish I could.” There was no point reminding him that he was dead. It was a fact she didn’t wish to remember either. “Perhaps you could bring mother next time?” Her mother that she wasn’t certain was even with her father in the afterlife. She had yet to see her.

“I will,” he proclaimed. “Oh, she will be thrilled to see you again. She speaks of you all the time.”

Belladonna squeezed his hand. “Then it is a plan. We will make a day of it.” Around her, the world became hazy, the edges of the church beginning to swirl. She was waking, the deep mounting groan of hunger clenching her insides.

“Do you have to go?” he asked.

Bella closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She felt herself slipping back under, content with this dream world a little longer. When she opened her eyes, the world was solid again. “I can stay for a little while longer,” she said.

Her father beamed at her. “Then, let us talk. I do miss our chats.”

Keeping his hand in hers, she leaned back in the pew and nodded. “As do I.”