"When will you let me go?", you asked, your head resting on your crossed arms while you were laying halfway on the table and looked out of the window. "I want to go outside. It will rain today, I can smell it. I want to feel the rain."

With a sigh, your mother grabbed your dangling feet to keep them still and wrapped them into thick layers of cloth, then another layer and bandages in the end.

"You can't go out.", she said in a scolding tone. "It will hurt you."

You pulled a face.

"Everything hurts me."

"That's why you need to stay inside."

"I don't want to stay inside."

Fed up by the argument, one like many other that the two of you had before, she shook her head and got up to grab a wooden plate. Without a word, she offered it to you and smiled in satisfaction as it fell out of your grip because your hands were too weak to carry the weight.

Bloody spots pressed against the bandages that wrapped your hand, up to your arm and shoulder.

"See? Today is not a good day.", she said and picked the plate up. "You hurt yourself holding a plate."

Frowning in displeasure, you rested the arm back on the table.

The bandages caused your entire body to itch and burn whenever the delicate skin tore open. But it was the only way to keep your body from falling apart at the slightest stain.

"You're mean...", you mumbled and let your eyes wander out the window, over the colourful flower meadow that was stretching right in front of the little cabin that you and your mother lived in.

She had often told that once the two of you had lived somewhere else, at a place full of people and animals.

Whenever she talked about the market, where the merchants offered their goods for sale, a smile lit up on her face. She seemed to miss the old times, the life she had before coming here.

But every time you tried to convince her to go back, she refused and fell silent for a few hours.

You couldn't remember those times, but in the end it wouldn't have made a different. You were trapped in this beautiful valley, probably for the rest of your life, and you weren't even allowed to fully enjoy it.

"Tell me about father.", you said while scratching the tables surface out of boredom.

Your mother huffed. The sound of pans hitting against each other filled the silence. She put a bowl on the table, filled to the brim with seasonal vegetables. There was a knife sticking out of one of the radishes.

For a moment, your eyes were glued to the old blade. It was almost dull, every time she tried cutting something with it she complained how much of a hassle it was. But to your skin, as bruised and fragile as it was, it could have been deadly.

"Why do you ask all of a sudden?", she asked and grabbed the knife to peel some of the vegetables.

Judging by the ingredients, she was making farmers stew. Again.

"You never talk about him. And I'm bored.", you glanced up to lock eyes with her. "Is he dead?"

Shaking her head, she sighed.

"I wish he was.", she hummed and immediately smiled. "No, I shouldn't talk about him this way. He gave me you, after all."

You frowned.

"So, he left us?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Hm. I wish there would be an easy answer to it. But in the end, he left at his own free will. He had his reasons. And his mistakes."

Curling your lips, you let your feet dangle in the air while listening to her words as if they could summon him.

"Was he a good man?", you asked.

She shrugged. Her fingers peeled the veggies as effortless as if they had never done anything else in their life. She didn't even need to watch what she did, she just did it.

Sometimes, you felt a hint of jealousy, not because she was so skilled, but because she had the privilege of learning anything she wanted. She had as many tries as she wished, could cut herself and g on about it.

You, on the other hand, had to suffer a thousand times more for the same minor injury.

"Yes and no.", her eyes wandered out the window, a nostalgic shimmer hidden inside of them. "Whenever he was around, the people would love him for his calmness and tried to please him. But when he was angered, they feared him almost more than the Godfather himself."

For a moment, you thought about the words. It seemed strange to you, that she wouldn't describe him physically, but rather talk about him being a strangely unhealthy mix between a price charming and a brute.

But on the other hand, maybe she didn't remember how he looked like anymore. After all, the last time she had seen him had been before your birth.

"He sounds powerful."

"He was. Powerful and dangerous."

You raised your head to sit up straight. While doing so, a slight pain chased through the spot underneath your knee. The feeling of blood crawling over your skin appeared.

The bandages started to get soggy and stuck to your skin.

With a quick glance, your mother shook her head.

"Again?", she asked in a soft yet exhausted tone. "Today really is not a good day..."

You sighed.

"It will heal. Like always."

"It might get infected."

"Nothing that I didn't survive already."

"Your taking this too easy. You might die from this infections. Or you'll loose too much blood. Do you have any idea how terrible your fate actually is?"

For a long, very long moment, you stared at her. There was a shimmer hidden in your (E/C) eyes, eyes that had the same shades as hers.

And judging by the expression on her face, she seemed to understand. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she placed the knife on the table and sighed.

"You're such an ungrateful brat, sometimes...", she mumbled. "How can you accuse me of locking you away if all I do is keep you safe?"

Without a word, you slid from your chair and turned away.