Echoes of a silver vow

Chapter. 2

My eyes narrowed on the bundle of asparagus in his calloused hand. He didn’t look like he belonged at a noble’s table—his clothes were simple, worn at the edges—but something in the way he held himself, the sharp cut of his jaw, felt… different. Out of place. The vibe he gave off was dangerous as I made a metal note to avoid him. I didn’t say a word. I just quietly picked another stalk from the pile and moved on.

But I was as if he heard my thoughts as he kept appearing. Every stall I stopped at, he was there a moment later, reaching for the same plump tomatoes, the same fragrant herbs. Always just before me, Always taking the best of the bunch. But since there was plenty, I bit my tongue and chose another. As my basket grew heavy, my patience thinned.

Then I saw an ice cream cart, so bright it awned a happy spot in the market. Seeing it gave me a small comfort, so I ordered a swirl of vanilla, already imagining the sweet coolness on my tongue.

A hand—the same hand—darted in and snatched the cone right from the vendor’s grip.

My head buzzed and a strange heat rushed up my neck. It felt as if something broke and I was being controlled by something as I couldn't think. I felt my foot came down hard on his boot and my teeth sank into the back of his wrist before I even knew what I was doing.

“How dare you!” The shout tore from my throat, raw and shaking.

He didn’t flinch. He just stared, his eyes widening slightly, the ice cream melting between his fingers.

A circle of onlookers had formed, their murmurs pressing in. Suddenly it felt as if I had regained my senses and shame broke my trance. “What was I doing?“ I thought in confused.

I turned and shoved through the gawking crowd, my face burning, not daring to look back.

The walk home felt like dragging stones in my shoes. Every step grated. I barely saw the familiar faces along the alley—Mrs. Gable tending her roses, the twins chasing a hoop. Normally I’d have a smile or a wave for them all. Today my vision was narrowed to the path ahead, my jaw clenched tight.

I heard a gasp as I passed a pair of ladies, their parasols tilting. I didn’t stop. Didn’t even look. Their shocked whispers chased me, but I just kept walking, the heat of my own embarrassment a flush on my neck.

Home. The door clicked shut behind me. Mother was arranging lilies in a vase by the stair. “I’m back,” I muttered, my voice flat. I didn’t meet her eyes, just headed straight for the kitchen.

Her silence felt heavier than any question.

I grabbed the nearest knife. The chopping board became that man’s face. All of a sudden, the strange took control over me as I fell into a trance. Suddenly I slamed to blade on the board and every slam of the blade gave a strange sense of satisfaction with I dreaded. I saw as the vegetables splintered and The meat tore. I felt my mouth moved as I cursed a low, furious chant.

Then I saw a mess. A pulpy, ruined mess. And a strange anger broke, crumbling into something wet and pathetic. While trying to understand this situation a sob ripped out of me. I felt surprised and confused as I covered my face with my hands, the knife clattering to the counter. I didn't know why , I just couldn't control the tears.

Strong arms wrapped around me. Catherine. Her scent, jasmine and clean linen, filled my nose as she pulled me close. “Shhh, Lilly. It’s alright.”

Mother was there too, her face pale. The curious ladies from the alley hovered in the doorway, their eyes wide.

Soon I was settled on the sofa, tucked against Mother’s side. She stroked my hair, her voice a soft murmur. “My little flower. Tell me what happened. Who made you cry?”

The story tumbled out in hiccupping fragments—the stolen ice cream, the humiliation, the sheer childishness of it all.

A wave of laughter filled the room. Even Mother chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, my sweet girl. Crying over a treat.”

She wiped my cheeks with her handkerchief. “That man is a terrible bully. If I see him, I’ll give him a proper scolding. How about that?”

I nodded, sniffling.

“Mrs. Nettle will fetch you that pastry from the market. The biggest one.”

“Okay.”

She kissed my forehead. “Good. Off you go.”

I slipped off the sofa, my mood already lighter, and drifted back toward the kitchen.

Silvia's POV

My fingers paused on the stem of a lily. The front door had clicked shut with a force that vibrated through the floorboards. That wasn’t the gentle click of my Lillian returning from the market. That was a slam of pure frustration.

“I’m back,” her voice floated in, flat and devoid of its usual warmth. She didn’t even look my way, just a flash of silver hair as she marched straight past the parlor and into the kitchen. My hand stilled on the flower. I was surprised ,That was it. No bright smile, no cheerful recounting of the market’s gossip. Just a curt, irritated dismissal.

A cold knot tightened in my stomach. My Lilly didn’t get angry. She could be quiet or sad, but she never let fury simmer on the surface like this. She was my easy-going girl, my exotic fairy who charmed the entire alley with a single glance.

Before I could process it, a sharp rap came at the door. Mrs. Nettle answered, and two of the neighborhood ladies—Mrs. Finch and her sister, Clara—swept in, their faces alight with poorly concealed curiosity.

“Good evening,” I said, forcing my voice into its usual smooth, welcoming cadence. “To what do I owe this pleasant visit?”

They returned the greeting, their eyes darting around the room, looking for her.

“Didn’t you notice?” Mrs. Finch blurted out, unable to contain herself.

I arched a brow, playing the part of the oblivious matron. “Notice what?”

“Your daughter’s behavior!” Clara chimed in, her voice a hushed, dramatic whisper.

I let a flicker of genuine surprise show. “I did. But how did you know?”

Mrs. Finch gave a light, nervous laugh. “We aren’t the only ones who know. Everyone in the neighborhood saw her. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding slowly as if it were mere gossip and not a c***k in the perfect facade I had built for my youngest.

“So, back to our previous conversation,” Mrs. Finch pressed, leaning forward. “Do you know why she would be behaving like this? As far as I know, she wasn’t like this when she left home. If she had been, it would have already been the talk of the whole neighborhood.”

I opened my mouth to offer some placating lie, but a tremendous BANG from the kitchen cut me off. We all flinched. Then another. And another.

We rushed to the doorway. The scene inside stole the breath from my lungs.