*~ Amora ~*

Friday, 14th of November 1849, around 5 o'clock

I had just arrived back from a long day at the blacksmith, exhausted, drenched, hungry and beaten. And all I wanted was just some food, a warm bath, a new set of clothes and a nap. However, it was only late afternoon. A rainy late afternoon, to be more specific. But why did I even care? Thinking no one was home, I was almost about to head up the stairs to my room with my bag when I heard the door to my mother's office open. Upstairs. Crap. Why is mother home? I thought she said she was working late and wouldn't be home before midnight. I certainly don't hope that Grimsby had fired her. Yet, on the other hand, I wished that he had because I knew how much he despised my mother and wanted to get rid of her.

Frozen in place and with my breath stuck in my throat, I looked up the stairs as I saw my mother's silhouette get smaller and smaller as she descended. And soon, she stood right in front of me, only in her thin olive-green nightdress. Her long, thick dark brown hair was all messy, her cheeks were red, and her amber-brown eyes looked drowsy and glass-like. Someone seems a bit under the weather. That's unusual. I rarely saw my mother in her current state. Only when something was wrong. And that wasn't very often. But there sure was, this time it seemed. "Mora. What are you doing home so early?" My mother asked emotionlessly, seemingly annoyed. "I'm always home around this hour on Fridays, mother. I thought you already knew that." I answered with a hint of concern in my voice. "Why are you home? I thought you were working late". Why are you asking, you idiot? You probably already know what happened. My mother shifted uncomfortably in her place and looked down on the wooden step of the staircase. Now with a sad look on her face. "I... I've lost my job, Amora. Mister Grimsby fired me around noon." She said quietly.

Why am I not even surprised? I was right all along. That bloody sucker to Grimsby did fire her. Mother finally got what she deserved. "That's... not so good to hear, mother. Are you okay, then?" I asked while I did my best to try and hide the amusement in my voice. My mother looked up at me, her eyes still filled with hurt. That suddenly turned into something else. Something much more sinister than sadness. I think she saw through me. "Do I look okay?" She said. Her voice was now trembling and dripping with anger, and her eyes dark and cold – completely fixated on me. "Huh, Amora? Do I look okay to you? Do you really think this is funny?!".

I thought for a split second that mother would give me her usual holier-than-thou speech and be completely melodramatic again like she always is. But not this time. Now, our shaky breaths, the sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace, and the heavy rain pounding rapidly on the windows were the only things that could be heard. I just stood there, having no idea of what to do or what to say. I usually don't, in these situations. Because everything I say to that woman results in me getting a slap across my face. Everything that just seems like an insult in her ears pisses her off.

I tightened the grip around my bag and looked down at the wooden floorboards, silently admiring the patterns. I was simply waiting for the blow to come. A little while passed. Then my mother began walking down the remaining steps of the stairs. Every single step was making my heart skip a beat. Why am I getting so used to this? I asked myself. Now she stood in front of me.

Next thing I feel is my mother's hand, hard around my jaw as she pulls me forward, almost making me stumble and drop my bag. It brought me face to face with her. Her eyes were still dark and filled with rage. "Answer me when I talk to you." My mother hissed through her now gritted teeth. "Or this will be the next thing you get the hand for. Is that clear?". I gulped and managed to give her a small nod in response. Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "Good".

She yanked me roughly to the side, making me lose my balance. On my way down, I managed to grab a hold of the kitchen counter, just before my body was about to hit the floor– also dropping my bag in the progress. It landed with a loud thud just a few metres away from me. "Silly girl. Just as clumsy as your father." My mother chuckled and gave me a cold glare before passing me and walked over to pick up my bag by the straps. Weighing it in her hand and giving it a slight rustle. "Huh!? This doesn't sound like you've bought ingredients for dinner." My mother grumbled in annoyance, before turning her eyes back to me who still hadn't got up from my spot. I still kept my gaze to the ground, not daring to look up at her. "I thought you promised me that".