Beautiful Irenic Life
In the heart of April, the air is crisp and sweet. Spring blossoms in every looming, luscious cherry tree.
The ravishing green woods hum with the rustle of leaves, a symphonic rhapsody woven with the songs of birds.
A love melody of joy—so sweet, so serene—the mother earth breathes wisps of breeze from her thriving lips.
Wildflower meadows, once sleeping silent beneath winter's snow, now rise merry and bright, as bees and kaleidoscopic butterflies—like old friends—flutter, float, and dance among the blooms.
The cloudless blue sky sighs and smiles, light and high in spirit. Nature glows bright, and the soul feels garden-fresh after a cleansing spring rain.
The hills and valleys, the misty white waterfalls, the emerald lake, and the vibrant flowers along the shore—life is irenic.
Living is beautiful...
Amusing giggles fill Neva's warm, cozy home.
She lifts her seven-month-old son from the floor, laughing sweetly in joy. Spinning gently with him, their shared laughter rings euphoric as Rhean squeals and giggles in delight.
Rhett watches from nearby—arms crossed, head slightly tilted—admiring them with such unspoken love.
Their baby has just crawled a short, steady distance for the first time.
And his parents were over the moon—ecstatic and grateful for their growing little baby and each of his milestones.
Rhett smiles and approaches them, as Neva beams up at him, her face glowing with joy. He caresses her cheek, kisses her on the lips, and follows with a gentle kiss on Rhean's soft, downy head.
"He's growing so fast," Neva says, smiling as she looks down at the baby in her arms. "I'm happy... and sad at the same time."
Their eyes meet. Rhett's gaze softens at the glimmer in hers. He kisses her forehead tenderly and wraps them both in an embrace, baby Rhean safe and warm in his mother's arms.
"I know," he whispers, his voice hushed and full.
Rhean has grown four little teeth—two each on the upper and lower gums—and has started stringing syllables together.
First it was "dada," and then, later, "mama."
And their hearts couldn't hold any more happiness.
"Dadada..." Rhean mutters, likely because he was snuggled between his adoring parents. Rhett pulls back and gently pinches his son's cheek. Neva chuckles and kisses the baby's chubby cheek.
---
Evening falls~
Neva is on the bed, nursing Rhean, when Rhett enters the room—ready for a stroll with his son, holding a baby carrier.
"You're ready?" Neva asks, looking up at him with a smile. He nods, mirroring her sweetness.
He sits beside her, watching the baby's soft, rhythmic motions.
Caressing Rhean's head, he whispers, "He's becoming such a big guy, bingeing on mama's milk."
Neva chuckles lightly. "Now we should start letting him try soft foods," she says, brushing his hair back gently.
"Ba-bye, have a good time with your dada," she coos, kissing Rhean's cheek as he's secured into the carrier against Rhett's chest.
The baby beams at her, which earns him another round of kisses from his mother.
"I need kisses too," Rhett grumbles with a mock pout, pretending to be left out.
Neva giggles and leans in, and kisses him deeply on the lips—a smile tugging at their mouths mid-kiss.
Then, after another soft kiss on his cheek, she whispers: "Come back soon,"
Neva stays back, sending them off with kisses and warm layers, for even in Alleanor's spring, the breeze is still laced with cold.
---
(Trigger Warning ⚠️ Violence ahead)
A few minutes later, while Rhett is out with Rhean at the nearby store, Neva is in the kitchen, preparing a warm meal.
But then—
With the silent wind, comes a roar—
Loud, unrelenting, like gale-force winds.
Cars. Dozens of them, thundering toward her cottage.
Neva drops the ladle, lowers the flame. Heart racing, she walks to the window. Sliding the blinds aside—
And there. Through that narrow slit, her world comes to a standstill.
Black cars swarm around the house. Her breath catches.
She shuts the window quickly. Panic flooding in, she rushes to the door and locks it, her hands trembling. As she turns toward the room to grab her phone, a loud knock shakes the frame—hard and vicious.
Her feet freeze in place. Then—
"Open the door, Neva! You don't want me to break in," Ishmael's voice growls. His threat echoes with another brutal slam on the door.
She gulps down a rising cry, turns, and runs to the room.
Outside, Ishmael steps back and signals.
The men crash against the door. The wood groans.
"Remain here. Be alert," Ishmael commands.
"Yes, Boss." "Yes, Boss." His men reply, guarding the front as he strides in.
Zev stands in front of the cottage with a pack of cigarettes, lighting one. Exhaling smoke, he stares at the now trembling house.
---
Neva, tears clouding her vision, holds the phone to her ear. She's dragged every piece of furniture she could to block the door. The door rattles. The hinges cry.
Her fingers shake. "Please, please pick up," she murmurs. Each prolonged ring tears at her soul.
"Open the door!" Ishmael roars again, pounding harder. Neva flinches. The world is baring its brutal colors.
---
Meanwhile, Rhett is at the bakery, bouncing a crying Rhean in his arms while trying to pay for Neva's favorite bread. "Yeah, that'll be it," he says.
"Alright, sir, one moment," the cashier replies, turning to the next customer.
Rhean has suddenly started crying—loud, painful.
"Shhh... What's wrong, my boy?" Rhett gently rubs his back, concerned. Just a moment ago, he was fine and smiling...
Rhett feels the phone in his pocket buzzing. He pulls it out and immediately receives it as the caller id reveals—wifey.
"Angel?"
"Rhett—come... come home, please," Neva cries.
His face falls. "What—"
The line cuts.
His heart sinks.
"Sir, your order?!" the cashier calls out, baffled by Rhett's sudden sprint out the door.
The other customers hardly care, impatient with their own wait.
---
Neva flinches as the door crashes open. Her phone falls to the floor.
Ishmael stands in the doorway—dark, wounded, monstrous. A shadow draped in the skin of a man.
He kicks the furniture aside, flinching her backward.
He advances—slow and dreadful.
Neva stumbles, heart hammering, breath shallow.
His gaze lands on the fallen phone. It rings.
He picks it up.
"Hubby?" he mocks, eyebrows raised. His smirk twists. He glares at her.
Then—he smashes the phone against the wall.
Neva trembles.
She grabs the lamp. "Don't—don't come closer," she warns.
"Go ahead. Try," he snarls, stepping forward.
Cornered, her back hits the wall. She hurls the lamp—
He dodges. It crashes.
She throws books, vases—
He evades them all.
He slams her wrists to the wall.
"Please let me go!" she cries, thrashing.
"Stop saying that!" he barks, slamming his hand beside her head.
"I'm never letting you go. Never again."
He touches her face, and presses a kiss to her cheek. "You are mine." His warm breath feathering her skin coils her guts.
"No one gets to take you from me."
Neva's strength begins to drain.
Her senses slipping away.
She sobs, curling inward, disgusted by his touch. She fights, but she's merely a flame against a volcanic brute.
"Rhett, come soon—please..." her voice breaks, flickering.
His name enrages Ishmael.
He grabs her throat. Tight.
She gasps for air, weakening.
As she starts to black out, his grip loosens.
He lifts her and throws her on the bed.
Tearing off his coat.
Unbuckling his belt.
Ripping her dress.
Neva screams.
Struggles.
Thrashes.
But there is no one to hear.
He who once she thought mirrored the man she loved—was nothing alike.
How wrong was she?
For they paralleled not a glance.
He is a monster.
A murderer.
He's bruising her.
Violating her.
Destroying her.
Through reddened, blurry eyes, she lingers by—and watches the last flickers of hope erode.
He breathes down on her—minted, feral.
Where did she go wrong?
His eyes hold no warmth. Only possession. Lust. Violence.
He's devouring what was sacred.
He's defiling what was hers.
And the pain of the soul burning out—
Is more agonizing than the trauma on the body being burned alive.
He leaves nothing behind.
The flicker goes out.
And Neva—is no more.