Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Hatred easily consumes the heart. Arietta understood this old Downstream lesson with chilling clarity. She intuitively knew that she now held dominion over a part of Isaac’s heart, and a thrill of exhilaration filled her. A piece of him had been devoured by her very being.
‘Could I continue like this… and claim more of him?’ she wondered, lifting her uninjured arm to gently caress Isaac’s still-flushed cheek.
Her own heart ached and pounded loudly in her chest. Her cheeks and neck felt warm, perhaps from the burgeoning inflammation in her injured arm, or perhaps from the lingering touch of Isaac’s lips.
Isaac’s dark, resentment-filled eyes closed in resignation. Just then, a voice called out, “Aria, are you there again?” It was Seia.
Isaac froze as if struck by lightning, his face draining of color as he stared in the direction of the voice. Arietta threw her arms around him. The boy, hardened by labor, carried an unpleasant scent, but she didn’t want to let go. His frame, broad as if hinting at the man he would soon become, felt solid beneath her touch, his flesh healthier than the skeletal thinness of his past.
Perhaps from shock, Isaac didn’t push her away. Unhindered, Arietta nestled closer, her cheek resting against his shoulder. Rounding the corner, Seia saw her precious daughter embraced by a boy of similar age.
Tears welled in Arietta’s eyes, dampening his shoulder. His body stiffened further. Arietta couldn’t know his thoughts, but she guessed he was wary. But there was no need for caution. These were tears meant to deceive.
“Mother…”
“Arietta?”
“I’m hurt.”
Arietta showed Seia her tear-stained face. Seia’s expression, fiercely protective of her daughter, hardened instantly. Suspicious blue eyes turned towards Isaac, a silent question hanging in the air: Your doing?
Before Seia’s suspicion could deepen, Arietta spoke. “I was curious about the workshop equipment and got my arm stuck. Mother, it hurts so much…”
She skillfully fabricated her story, holding out her swollen arm, now grotesquely misshapen.
“You’re saying you hurt yourself playing alone?” Seia asked suspiciously.
“Yes,” Arietta replied, nodding without a trace of guilt.
“But he,” she gestured towards Isaac, “pulled my arm free from the machine. He said I needed to get it treated quickly and brought me out of the workshop. If it weren’t for him, my arm might have been completely severed, Mother.”
Her quickly concocted story held together remarkably well. Seia’s expression softened, seemingly convinced.
“You’re so clumsy. Alright, stop crying. Didn’t I tell you never to cry outside?” Seia wiped Arietta’s tear-stained cheeks. Arietta, playing the part of a small child, simply nodded and pouted, a deliberate display of childishness that Seia, blinded by maternal love, seemed to miss. Or perhaps she saw it all and chose to ignore it.
The fake tears stopped quickly. Holding her daughter, now as tall as herself, Seia smoothed her back and looked at Isaac. Nestled in her mother’s arms, Arietta listened intently, her injured arm hanging limply, praying for the words she longed to hear.
“What’s your name?”
Yes! Asking his name was a good sign. Things were going her way. Arietta trembled slightly.
“Isaac,” he replied, his voice tinged with unease. There was no need for that…
Arietta stuck her tongue out, unseen.
“Isaac… I’ll remember that.”
Seia took Arietta’s hand.
“Come on, Arietta. It must hurt. You should have been more careful. How can you be so careless at fifteen…?” Arietta played the role of the repentant daughter, silently enduring her mother’s scolding.
Arietta was immediately taken to the infirmary for treatment. Maud, alarmed by the news of her injury, rushed in to find Arietta, arm splinted and bandaged, looking perfectly fine.
“I had a painkiller. They said it was fortunate they treated it quickly,” Arietta explained, offering a sweet smile. “It’s thanks to that boy from the workshop. Mother, what was his name again?”
She swung her legs playfully, tilting her head towards Seia. Seia, sitting with her legs crossed and smoking a cigarette, blinked slowly.
“Isaac.”
“Yes, Isaac. It’s fortunate things turned out as well as they did, thanks to him.” Arietta feigned ignorance, acting as if she was hearing the name for the first time, despite knowing it for years.
Like any true child of Downstream, her lies betrayed no guilt or fear. She delivered them with the effortless naturalness of pure truth.
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